


i love you, baby (but i'm just a fool)

by aw marvel no (getoffmysheets)



Series: Lovers and Fools [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fan Soundtracks, Infinity War Bullshit, Multi, Musical References, Oh god why did I do this?, Peter Is Everyone's Son, Pre-Hulk Bruce Banner, Pre-Iron Man 1, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmates, Time Travel, Wanda Is Everyone's Daughter, dimension hopping, kind of?, these asshole are all made for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/aw%20marvel%20no
Summary: Tony grimaces. “Ick, no, no, don’t talk to me like I’m Dad. I need to take a shower now, thanks.”





	1. thank you (for dancin' til the end)

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, I am back on my bullshit.

Natasha is returning to the common floor where she knows that James will be waiting for her, pretending he is not having a cow. She was not worried about her medical progress. Unlike certain others she could name, Natasha generally follows the advice of the medic. Now given a clean bill of health, she is intending to tease the others, maybe send them video of her and James kissing on the couch. However, this thought is put on hold by a pair of lost-looking young men in a short hallway leading towards the elevator bank.

 

Natasha assumes that these two must be some of Peter’s friends from Queens and says, “Are you searching for the Parkers?”

 

They turn toward her. They are both thin, slender young men. The blond shakes his head, stammering at the sight of Natasha, shocked and open-mouthed at her tight leather pants and the low drape of her silk top. “N-no, ma’am,” he says, gulping, voice deep and startlingly resonant. “We-we’re trying to leave, Miss-?”

 

“Romanov,” she says serenely, resisting the urge to coo and crush them both against her chest like an anime girl. They’re both just so cute! “Agent Romanov, actually. Any particular reason you’re visiting us today, Steven?”

 

“Uh…” The both stare at her, hypnotized by the beautiful redhead.

 

Steve Rogers’ dark-haired companion looks around, dazed, and says “I’m…supposed to be taking a physics final right now, ma’am.”

 

“I think…is this boot camp?” Steve asks, brows furrowed. “Are we still in New York, Miss Romanov?”

 

“We are,” she confirms. “Somehow, I doubt even failing that final would keep you from passing, Mr. Banner.” Addressing the ceiling, she pleasantly says “FRIDAY, do we know when our young guests arrived?”

 

There is a suspiciously long pause in which Natasha has time to become concerned for the AI, before FRIDAY replies. “Mister Barnes arrived on the laboratory floor fourteen minutes ago. Mister Rogers arrived on the medical wing twelve minutes ago, with Mister Banner arriving four minutes after that. Mister Stark arrived six minutes ago to the defunct penthouse. Mister Barton arrived at the training facility five minutes ago, and I believe Miss Romanova arrived on the research and development floor four minutes ago.”

 

Immediately, Steve perks up and says “Bucky? Bucky is here?”

 

“Excuse me, FRIDAY, did you just say _I_ arrived four minutes ago?” she asks uneasily.

 

“Correct.” Another pause. “I am experiencing difficulties keeping track of her at this time.” Natasha sighs and rubs her temples. FRIDAY adds “I’m unsure of how to classify our other arrivals.”

 

Her brows lift. “ _Other_?”

\---

Wanda is making brownies on the joint residence floor. Natasha won’t say it, but she knows that is her favorite dessert.

 

She is definitely not expecting the woman herself to walk into the room as she’s still mixing the batter together. “ _Mat_ -Natasha!” Wanda stammers. “What did – oh, what have you done to your _hair_?” Then, realizing that her comment could be taken offensively, adds “Um, it looks good on you.”

 

This is true, but there are few styles Natasha can’t pull off. Personally, Wanda prefers the bold vibrance of her natural hair. _Matka_ is no ordinary woman and it’s fitting somehow that it shows outwardly.

 

“I decided to try something new,” Natasha says airily, though her delivery is a little stilted.

 

Wanda squints at her, puzzled. “Are you done with the medics already?”

 

“Yeah, fit as a fiddle.”

 

“Where did you put _samec_ , then?” she asks, a bit impatiently. “He’s been pacing the floor the whole morning! Miss Pepper still needs to talk to you guys about rescheduling.”

 

“I’ll…go talk to her.” Natasha vows.

 

Wanda sighs. “I guess the surprise has already been spoiled. Would you like them to be mint or espresso?”

 

“Espresso,” she answers slowly.

 

The elevator announces that this is “Floor 201 – Joint Residence Penthouse” and Clint strolls into the kitchen, whistling and greeting Natasha with a cheerful “Hey!” before sitting at the island. “Morning, ladies.”

 

Wanda turns around to deposit her mixing bowls into the sink and when she turns back, she levitates two of the largest kitchen knives and holds them at their throats. Lowly, her accent grown noticeably thicker with emotion, she says “What have you done with Clint and Natasha?”

 

Looking stunned, the Clint-imposter breathes “Wanda, we are Clint and Natasha. We-”

 

He cuts off with a gasp, the cold steel blade pressing into his throat.

 

“You would not have spoken to Natasha like…” she makes a wordless gesture “That.” With a frozen glare at the Natasha-double, she says “What did I ask you, back in Paris? The exact words.”

 

The blond Natasha gazes back her, with the same calm dignity of her own _Matka_ , but she remains silent.

 

“Tell me what you did to them, or I will kill you here!” Wanda hisses.

 

“Miss Maximoff,” FRIDAY murmurs from above. “They are telling you the truth. This man and woman _are_ Clinton Barton and Natalia Romanova. But they are not _your_ Clint and Natasha.”

 

“ _What_?!”

\---

The young man on the couch appears to be trying to hack FRIDAY’s systems via tablet. He’s not doing a half-bad job of it, either. Never let it be said that Tony Stark was short on sheer audacity.

 

Calmly, Tony grabs himself by the upper ear and pulls him off the sofa cushions in his former penthouse.

 

“Hi, **_Anthony_** ,” he tells him with menacing sweetness, noting how the boy’s eyes widen at the familiarity with his face and voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing to my house?”

 

“He was attempting to access upper level encrypted files from the mid-nineties archives, Boss,” FRIDAY says promptly. “He did not succeed due to recent updates done with Mr. Parker and Mr. Leeds’ stress-testing.”

 

“Excellent!” Tony murmurs, pleased. “Reminder: give Parker a better allowance.”

 

“Yes, Boss,” she agrees primly.

 

“What kind of sick fuck are you?” his younger self demands, trying to twist out of the hold. “You got whole video libraries of nothing but a redhead playing with herself!”

 

“I’m a grown-ass man whose taste in porn has got absolutely nothing to do with you, unless you’d like to applaud me on my excellent taste.”

 

“I would, actually,” younger Tony says brightly. “Holy _fuck_ , that is the hottest woman alive!”

 

Amused, he says “I’ll make sure to pass that on to her, I’m sure she’ll appreciate knowing my mind immediately went to examining my older self’s porn collection. Any idea how you got here, mini-me?”

 

Tony’s big brown eyes pop out of his head. “We know her? Oh, god, please tell me we’ve slept with her! Oh, uh, no actually, I don’t. Just showed up passed out on the bed.” He gives him a look. “Why is our room empty now?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Can’t fit six people up there, can I? Wasn’t designed for that.”

 

His younger self goes white. “S-six…?”

 

Tony feels himself soften a bit towards this twenty-year-old asshole. He remembers what – and who – he was back then. Entitled. Careless. Spoiled. Frightened. Lonely. Insecure. Grieving for a mother who seemed to be his only connection to unconditional love. For a father he could never and would never be able to please. Knowing that the only reason anyone would ever care about him was his money, and resigning himself to that knowledge with a bitter sadness that he could feel the sting of years later.

 

He would’ve given anything to have his mates there then.

 

“You got five soulmates, you need enough space to keep them all in.” He gives him a sly smile. “That hot redhead?”

 

Poor little Tony looks dumbfounded. “She’s _ours_? Do I grow up to have a harem of smoking hot babes at my disposal?”

 

Tony flicks the little shithead’s ear. “No, I have five people I share my life with. And yes, she’s ours. Well…mine. Jesus Christ. You’re twenty, right? Shit,” he grimaces. “She’d be about eight years old, your time.”

 

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting.”

 

Well, yes, yes, it is in retrospect. But that’s not what has him clenching his fingers. Eight-year-old Natasha would’ve been kept in an old house in Moscow, trained to dance, seduce, hide, murder, and fight, all at the command of her handler, regardless of her own wishes and desires. The second youngest little girl, with eleven others kept penned up in that Russian mansion.

 

But he can’t tell himself that – it won’t help Natasha (or Bucky, for that matter) and would probably get himself killed. Finally, he decides on “She’s the first you meet, but that won’t be for a long time.”

\---

“Okay,” Steve says sharply, dragging a nineteen-year-old version of Clint beside him as he stomps towards the common room. “ _OKAY_! We are going to have another long, l _ong_ talk about science experiment bullshit _without a fucking group vote_ , Tony.”

 

He stops up short as he takes in the scene in front of him. On the couch, Tony and a copy of himself are being watched very closely by Bucky who stands arms crossed, staring them both down with Peter nervously wandering the room behind him.

 

“For once, this wasn’t my brilliant idea, Cap,” he drawls in an irritating manner Steve hasn’t heard in…god, in months, probably. “You can thank the god of blockheads for this little predicament.”

 

“Let go of me!” Young Clint snarls. “What kind of weird assholes are you? Are you holding a Captain America convention?”

 

“I will _not_ ,” Steve barks, feeling a bit of contrition as Clint, smaller and more scared than his current adult self, tries to cower away from him. “You tried to steal _four hundred thousand dollars_ in equipment from the Tower! _Bucky_?”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s actually me,” he assures Steve with a wry smile. “I see you’ve picked up a friend!” Making eye contact with Clint’s younger counterpart, he says “Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you, Clint.”

 

“No fucking way,” the boy breathes. “Like the Army sniper? How do all of you know my name?”

 

“The one and only, sweetheart.” Bucky grins, then shakes his head. “Well, maybe not only, I guess.”

 

“Well, Barton,” the sassier Tony says with faux-brightness. “The Norse god of thunder royally fucked up and now we are all goddamn trapped in another effing universe.”

 

“Huh,” not-his-Steve murmurs. “And it’s only Tuesday…”

 

“FRIDAY?” Bucky sighs.

 

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” she says promptly, eliciting a scowl from Tony.

 

“Is Thor – it was Thor right?” Tony does not respond, but the other Steve nods. “Is Thor in this building?”

 

“Mr. Odinson is the room housing EUTERPE master console.”

 

“The what?” Tony asks, now looking concerned.

 

Not-his-Steve says “EUTERPE, Tony. Jesus, you invented it. Her? Bucky, is it a her?”

 

“I think EUTERPE is an it, Steve,” Bucky argues. “It doesn’t think or talk like FRIDAY does.”

 

“I shall take that as a compliment, Sergeant,” FRIDAY says, a bit cheekily.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky agrees, grinning up at the ceiling.

 

“When you’re done flirting with the artificial intelligence,” Steve says dryly. “We should probably get everyone wrangled in one placed.”

 

“Uh, I don’t actually know if that’s possible,” Bucky admits. “It sounds like Bruce is hanging out with me from the bad ole days and the kid’s in pretty rough shape?”

 

Steve goes pale. “You mean like…”

 

“No, older than that. Back when I was a wee little shit like this one,” Bucky says, jerking his chin at Clint.

 

Young Clint curves an eyebrow up at Bucky. “There ain’t a thing little about me.”

 

Bucky smiles a private kind of smile and behind him, Steve chokes sharply. “Bucky whatever it is you’re thinking, you can think it and not say it.”

 

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

\---

Calmly, Bruce stares back at himself. “I assume that you are part of the group that seems to have begun this disaster?” he asks, pressing a warm dry towel to young James’ pale clammy face. “Don’t just stand there, please. He’s going to need fluids and he’s sweating through his clothes.”

 

Slowly, his counterpart begins to comply, moving as though his is swimming through molasses. Bruce sighs, impatient with his other self’s shocked sluggishness but more concerned about James.

 

The soldier on his table is hardly any older than Wanda, and this poor, frightened boy was sent out to kill some of the most evil and nefarious forces in the history of the world. Bruce begins removing his undershirt, trying to take the sweaty garment off him without moving him more than necessary, and James whimpers “No, no, please…”

 

“Shhhhhh,” Bruce says gently, placing his warm palm over James’ waxy, chilled skin. “Just relax James. My name is Dr. Banner and I’ll be taking care of you for the time being.”

 

“Please, please, god, it hurts,” James sobs.

 

Bruce’s heart clenches. “What hurts, James? Tell me what hurts.”

 

“Everything…everything _burns_ …” he moans, tears of pain rolling past his temples.

 

“Oh my god,” his other self says, horrified. “Zola has already given him the serum.”

 

“FRIDAY, I don’t know what everyone is doing, but I need James – I need to talk to _my_ James – _NOW_.”

 

“Right away, Dr. Banner,” she agrees. “Connecting the line.”

 

“How are the bad ole days?” Bucky answers the call with feigned ease. “We found some extra troublemakers down here.”

 

“Zola has already given your younger self the counterfeit serum,” Bruce says quickly, unaware that he is stroking James’s dark, ragged hair while his other self watches them with narrowed eyes. “He…appears to be in great distress.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “It feels like ice in the blood and fire in the bone. It’ll take a long time for it stop.”

 

“How long is a long time, James?”

 

There is a long pause where Bruce wonders if he will answer him at all. “Steve…Steve, don’t get mad, okay?”

 

Quietly, he can hear Steve murmur “Alright, Buck.”

 

“I don’t remember. I don’t know how long it takes because it was still happening when we boarded the train.”

 

“Bucky, that was _YEARS_!” Steve yells, and the sound makes young James jerk violently, letting out a loud sob as he contracts his aching, burning muscles. Steve immediately goes silent.

 

“S-Steve…?” he moans, feverish and confused. “Steve…”

 

“Shhhhh…just relax, James,” Bruce murmurs. “I believe I can stop the pain and make him more comfortable.”

 

“Why am I sensing a ‘but’ somewhere in there?” Bucky asks slowly.

 

“I can’t actually stop the serum,” he admits. “There is no way to undo or even slow down the process of bodily transformation now that it’s started. By exposing him to a relatively small amount of radiation, I can speed the process up in the same way Howard Stark did with the Vita-Ray machine. It will still hurt, that’s unavoidable in such a dire change, but rather than spending years in pain, James will be well again in under an hour.”

 

“He’s going to be enhanced,” the other Bruce argues. “I think you’re leaving that part out, but it’s a pretty big part.”

 

“That’s going to happen anyway,” he answers baldly. “I’m simply making it happen more quickly. But only you know what this is like, James. Do I leave him alone or give him the radiation?”

 

Steve murmurs “Shouldn’t you ask the younger Bucky that?”

 

“He’s nearly insensible with pain – I don’t even know if he understands where he is right now. The effects of the serum are sometimes strong and sometimes weak, and he doesn’t always know what’s happening around him.”

 

“Give him the radiation.” Bucky says quietly. “He’s going to end up like me anyway – there’s no reason to make him spend years with fire ants in his skin.”

 

“We’re gonna have a talk about this, Buck,” Steve adds with quiet rage.

\---

Clint must admit that this is nothing even close to resembling a fair fight. Little Tasha is good – great even – but all he needs to do is use the same tricks he used to catch her that first time, all those years ago. In fact, this time the fight doesn’t take three hours through sleet, rain, and late into the night, freezing snow.

 

Tricks like that wouldn’t work on Natasha now, but this version of her doesn’t know what he will do or how to predict his actions.

 

Natalia lets out an inaudible gasp as an arrow catches the hem of her jacket and pins her to the floor. Wriggling out of the sleeve, she scrambles to get some more distance between them.

 

The Soldier was the only one who ever made her feel hunted, stalked, _afraid_. The Archer also makes her afraid, but he does it in a different way. The Archer doesn’t even hunt her – it feels almost as though he toys with her, plays with her as a cat plays with a mouse before its dinner.

 

It is the special kind of fear, the one that Natalia tries not to show. She is sweating, her heart races, her breath goes ragged, and the space between her legs has gone hot and liquid. This must be a test, like the Soldier was a test. If she fails this one, too, she will be punished or worse. _Why_ must she be weak this way?

 

She does not understand the point of this exercise! Are they trying to prove that Natalia cannot control herself around a man?

 

(That point has already been proven, and she cannot. But not for any man is she made weak. He must be special, or she is left cold. _Frigid_ , they called her. Why the Soldier and now the Archer are special, she does not know.)

 

“Come on, little Tasha,” the Archer coos. “I can’t be letting you wander around here by yourself.”

 

Little Tasha?

 

He is more talkative than the Soldier was. More…present? She does not answer him, of course. Not that it matters – he seems to know what Natalia will do and where she will go even before she does.

 

(The Archer’s voice gives Natalia a longing to arch into him like a cat wishing to be pet. Beneath her shirt her nipples grow tight, the skin between her neck and bellybutton tingling. It is pleasurable, infuriating, humiliating. Natalia has been trained against this, she should not be so easily undone. And yet…)

 

Clint spots her crouch around a corner, panting, eyes dilated and is somewhere between curious and disgusted with himself. She…she isn’t really reacting this way from being chased by him, is she?

 

He doesn’t recall her doing it originally. (He wouldn’t have known what to look for, originally, did not know how closely tied to fear Natasha’s lust could be.)

 

One thing is certain: he will have to make it very clear that he is not doing…doing _that_ with her. His own Tasha aside, Little Tasha looks about sixteen or seventeen and he’s done a lot of questionable or even shady things in his life, but fucking around with girls (or boys) young enough to be his kid has never been one of them.

 

“ _Davay, Natashenka. Ya uvizhu tebya, nezavisimo ot togo, gde ty pryachesh'sya,_ ” he murmurs, just to watch her startle from her hiding place. As she scrambles up, he releases the arrows from their draw, the rope wrapping her ankles securely.

 

He listens to her grunt as she goes down, catching herself on her forearms and quickly turning around to wriggle out of the trap.

 

Of course, Clint is there with the handcuffs before she can.

 

Just like last time.

 

Natasha stares up at him with barely concealed shock as Clint cuffs first her right hand and then his own left wrist. “Come along, little Tasha,” he says sternly, giving his own arm a gentle tug to get her to stand. Her eyes go wide as he adds “We’re going to see big Tasha.”

 

“Captain Rogers asks that you meet them near the EUTERPE console.”

 

“We’ll be there, FRIDAY,” Clint says firmly, eyeing his new charge.

\---

Thor is indeed up the console room, pacing and speaking what they presume to be Asgardian curses.

 

“You said this would get them back!” the otherworldly Tony snarls. “Now we’re an entire universe away from home, and they are still all _dead_!”

 

“I’m-I’m sorry,” the young Steve says quietly. “But I-I still don’t understand. They…” He points to his MUCH larger counterparts. “They…are me? And you said-you said Bucky is here…?”

 

The native Steve Rogers crouches to meet his eyes and they stare at each other steadily. Young Steve lifts his stubborn chin, refusing to be cowed by his older self’s greater size – it makes him nearly smile. “Yes. And no,” he says gently. “This is not the future, at least not _your_ future. But it could be.”

 

As Bucky comes to stand by Steve’s shoulder, young Stevie looks up at him, looks at his prosthetic arm, and whispers “What did they do to you, Buck?”

 

Bucky gives him half a smile. “Nothing I couldn’t live through, pal. Your own Bucky is still pretty safe, Stevie. No use worrying about it.”

 

He stares back at himself, and the other one, just as large. “I don’t want it,” he whispers, looking at himself and then at Bucky. “If this is what it takes, I don’t want it.”

 

“Buck’s right, you don’t have to worry about those choices yet.”

 

Clint comes through the door with a young lady handcuffed to his wrist. “Look who I’ve found.”

 

Young Natalia stares with surprise at the people gathered, many of whom seem to inexplicably be identical twins, and then spots Bucky. Clint makes a sound of surprise as the girl lunges for him, but being that she is tied to a man three times her size, is stopped short.

 

“ _Please_!” she tells Bucky in Russian. “ _Please, I don’t know what this test is, but I’ve-I’ve already failed. The Archer caught me, but he will not…he will not finish it! Please…I want…I want…like last time…”_

 

Bucky stares at her, going pale and stiff with horror. “ _Natalia. Natalia, I can’t do that, love_.”

 

“ _I’ll-I’ll ask for it_ ,” she pleads. “ _I…I’d let you-let you…whatever you want, just please, Soldier-_!”

 

“ _That isn’t my name_ ,” he barks, then winces. This isn’t Natasha’s fault, that she was trained to believe that her desires were a failure on her part. That asking a grown man to do whatever he pleased to her was an acceptable risk, especially since she already believed she was going to be punished anyway.

 

“Look at me,” the red Natasha says sharply.

 

“You’re…”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she says simply. “ _Do not ask James for things he feels morally obliged not to give you – apart from that, this one is not yours, either.”_ Glancing over the others in the room, she tells Clint “Let Steven have her.”

 

Her mate swallows, glancing between his Natasha and her younger self. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Natasha.”

 

“Not you, Steve.” She points to his small and slender self. “Cuff her to Steven.”

 

“Wh-what?!” Steven squawks. “You can’t keep her against her will!”

 

Natasha smiles at him fondly. “And _that’s_ why you should give her to Steven.”

 

Young Tony stares at her hungrily, recalling all those gloriously naughty pictures. According to his older self, this sweet thing belongs to him. “I’ll take her.”

 

“Nope, _you_ definitely won’t,” Tony says immediately, smacking him in the back of the head. “Anthony, you’re at least a decade too early to handle her.”

 

Lowly, so that little Stevie won’t hear, Bucky mutters “I don’t need to remind you that she could break him in half, right? The spirit is willing and all that, but the flesh bruises easily and if she hurts him, I might have to kill her.”

 

“She won’t,” Natasha says simply. “She’ll be so entranced by that fearless weakness and righteous anger, it’ll make her feel bad to hurt him. She isn’t used to being the strong one in the room, especially around men.”

 

Clint obeys, feeling an odd pang as he is cuffing both of their tiny wrists. “This isn’t right,” Steven argues. “We can’t just keep her locked up like this!”

 

“ _Are you new_?” Natalia asks, brows furrowed.

 

“English, Natalia,” Natasha reminds her. “Steven only speaks English.”

 

“Not true,” her Steve says loftily. “I speak Gaelic very well, thank you.”

 

“Fuck’s sake,” not-their-Tony says impatiently. “Can we move on to how the fuck we are all getting back home?!”

 

“Me and Boo have been working on it,” the other Tony says archly, far more relaxed. “Two Bruces are better than one and shit like that.”

 

Young Bruce blinks. “I _know_ all of you people?”

 

“Know, love, occasionally try to murder out of sheer annoyance,” native Clint says, with his most charming grin.

 

Bruce blinks and looks away, blushing.

 

“It should have worked!” Thor argues angrily, and all of the native dwellers in the universe take a big step backward as he brandishes the Infinity Gauntlet, staring at the object with horror. “This infernal device was supposed to give us the tools to reset this…this…travesty, Rabbit- Rabbit?”

 

Rocket – a much more unkempt and subdued version than any they’d ever met – comes from the elevator bank with both of the other Bruces and the young Bucky. Young Bucky, dressed in a pair of cast off sweatpants and no shirt, looks wide-eyed around the room. “I never would have believed it, if I didn’t see with my own two eyes,” he whispers, then blinks. “Stevie…I always knew you’d find the right girl, but I’m not sure that’s the way to get her…”

 

Natalia stares back at him, stunned. “ _This one is mine_?” she asks Natasha. “ _He is only a boy!”_

 

“You are only a girl,” she answers curtly. “So that is rather fitting.”

 

“I have a theory – we have a theory?” Bruce says, puzzling out the pronoun. “But I strongly suspect it’s best to summon Thor and the Guardians to help with this problem. Rocket has described what occurred in your world, and it would be best if they were present to advise. They will understand the mechanics of this better and I think it’s a good idea to have Loki advise on the magical components as well.”

 

Thor stares at him, desperate with love and anguish. “You…you have my brother?”

 

“I do not,” Bruce says gently. “There is a brother, Thor. Not yours.”

 

“FRIDAY!” Tony demands. “I need a message sent to Quill: tell him to get his dancing ass back to the Milky Way pronto, and make sure he has the Brothers Grimm with him.”

 

“Establishing signal, Boss.” She pauses before saying. “Mr. Quill replies with, and I quote ‘don’t have a cow, man, we’re on the way’.”

 

“ETA?”

 

“Hmm…he says quote ‘get off my dick, Stark, I’m breaking intergalactic speed limits as it is’.” FRIDAY voice switches out and suddenly they hear Gamora’s voice screaming “SIT DOWN DURING THE JUMP I’M NOT TELLING YOU AGAIN – oh! Stark, we’ll be there by…do they _really_ call it that? By NOON tomorrow! This is the Milano, over and out.”

 

Tony shrugs at them all. “You heard the scary hot alien. Noon tomorrow – it’s the best I can do.”

 

While the interdimensional guests responsible for this grumble a bit, Tony gestures to his smaller self, pinching his ear again in a warning. “Remember what we talked about, **_Anthony_** ,” he murmurs. “Not a single word.”

 

“No, sir,” he agrees, wincing.

 

Tony grimaces. “Ick, no, no, don’t talk to me like I’m Dad. I need to take a shower now, thanks.”

 

Tony’s eyes glitter. “Oh, I’m sure that’s such a difficult cross to bear. Does Natasha wash your back?”

 

The wrong Steve jerks his head up and narrows his eyes in their direction, beginning to listen a little more closely.

 

“Keep your mind out of the gutter and your tongue in your mouth and _remember what I told you_ ,” Tony says sharply.

 

“Fine, fine!”

 

“We should find a way to get you out of these,” Steven murmurs, glancing around them.

 

“Why?” Natalia asks, confused.

 

He stares at her. “Because keeping you locked up to me against your will is wrong.”

 

“Maybe she likes you,” James says chuckling a little, half kidding but half not.

 

She glances between them. The boy who will one day be the Soldier is handsome, but like a boy is handsome, with a charm like a naughty child. Steven is nothing like either the Soldier or the Archer or even like James. He has the body of a boy, but the hands and voice of a man and that voice especially seems to ring a quiet chime in her body.

 

….perhaps he is also special?


	2. show her a little swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...that escalated quickly. 
> 
> Also: vote or die.
> 
> No. No, I mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ease of reading, beings original to this universe will be referred to by common names ("Tony", "Bucky")  
> Their canon selves I will refer to in future by surname ("Stark", "Barnes")  
> And the kiddos are called by their 'proper' names ("Anthony", "James")

“Bucky, how did you know that they were dangerous?” Peter asks, glancing over his shoulder at Rogers and Stark, who also convene with their own original group. The time-travelers, all strangers except for Steven and James, are more stilted with each other. Anthony, not shockingly, still talks a mile a minute.

 

The adults have herded himself and Wanda as far from them as possible.

 

“I didn’t,” Bucky admits, a bit sheepishly. “I just knew they were acting very squirrelly and when Stark tried to reach for you, my instincts got the best of me.”

 

Neither he nor Peter had mentioned what he’d said. **_No_** _, you don’t touch my kid._

 

Peter recalls the look of absolute disgust on Stark’s familiar face at the idea and mutters “I’m glad” just loud enough for Bucky to hear.

 

He leans toward him slightly, in the way Bucky’s come to realize that means he’d like to be comforted, so he lifts his arm and gently hooks Peter against his side, ruffling his hair and subtly sniffing his head to check his anxiety levels. Low, for the moment.

 

Tony says “Since we’re going to have houseguests for a while, I have to delay the press release. And…and it’s probably a good idea not to tell our travelers about the development of our unique _team building exercises_.”

 

Clint and Steve, having figured out what he’s talking about, do not look pleased at this prospect. “Pretend you’re not mine?!” Clint hisses. “Fuck that!”

 

“I’m sure it’s not necessary to…” Steve trails off.

 

Natasha concedes. “I don’t like it, but I do think that it’s tactically the best plan.”

 

Bucky nods, still sheltering Peter without trying to look like he is. “Stark has a lot of aggression towards me – telling them would not be a good idea.”

 

Sadly, Wanda agrees from her spot leaning against Clint “Barton acted like Romanov was a well-liked colleague and nothing more.”

 

Bucky recalls Rogers and Stark’s face when he called Bruce “darlin’”. Hopefully that could be attributed to his own personal quirks. The two of them were so distracted that he doubts they will connect Peter saying “Mom” with Natasha either, but that’s more easily explainable than the rest.

 

“We don’t have to like it,” Tony sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “But we do have to do it.” To Bucky, he says “Honey, I’m sorry, but if someone told me a year ago you had a spot in my bed, my reaction wouldn’t be pretty. A fist through the wall would be optimistic, and that’s where he is right now.”

 

“Don’t need to apologize,” Bucky says simply.

 

“It won’t be as difficult as it sounds,” Bruce allows, though he doesn’t sound happy either. Banner was watching him interact with James, and he’s afraid he may have given something away. No one knows him better than himself. “We have rules about what we do in public. Public just got a lot larger.”

 

“Yay,” Clint mutters unhappily.

 

Wanda rubs his shoulder and makes a sympathetic sound next to his ear.

 

Natasha signs to him, keeping her back to everyone outside their group.

 

//We’ll make it up to you, bird-song-mine//

 

He grins a little.

 

//Promise, spider-song-mine?//

\---

Barton is watching them shrewdly, eyes narrowed in focus. “There is…” he slowly, gaze darting between each member of the group. “…something very strange going on here. I don’t like it.”

 

Stark snorts, but for once, keeps his mouth shut. Barton suspects this has more to do with his distrust of his companions than because he doesn’t have any observations of his own.

 

More cautiously than would under normal circumstances, Thor says “It is possible that the laws and events of this universe operate in drastically different ways than our own.”

 

Romanov quirks a false smile. “I’ll say. Maximoff realized Barton and I were the wrong ones in under three minutes.”

 

Banner looks at her sharply. “How? You’re both excellent undercover agents – how was she able to figure it out so quickly?”

 

“The hair?” Rogers suggests, lifting a brow.

 

“No,” Romanov murmurs thoughtfully and Barton nods along with her. “She was a tiny bit thrown, but I think I talked her into believing it.”

 

“It wasn’t until I walked into the room that she got really suspicious. She said… ‘You would not have spoken to Natasha like…that’,” Barton confirms.

 

“ _That_ …” Rogers says, “How _did_ you speak to her?”

 

“I said ‘hey’ to Romanov and then ‘morning ladies’ to both of them.”

 

Stark’s gaze sharpens. “That’s the casual side of neutral. Which implies that the casual side of neutral was _wrong_. Not just wrong, _noticeably_ wrong. Rogers, your buddy Bucky was awfully confused about why I wanted to rip his head off, and then he called Pete his kid. _And_ ,” Then, as if betrayed anew, he glares at Rogers and says, “Since when you _swear_ , boy-scout? In front of kids, no less!”

 

“Uh…” Rogers responds, looking caught out.

 

“Has my entire childhood been a lie?” he demands. “Bucky Barnes murdered my parents and now Captain America apparently says ‘ _fuck’_ in front of kids!”

 

Rogers looks very unhappy but also has no answers for that. Bucky did do that, and not-his-Steve did indeed say both ‘fuck’ and ‘bullshit’ in front of two teenagers. ‘Science experiment bullshit’ was also apparently fully accepted and expected, as long as it was voted on in committee first.

 

He does admit “Bucky was really protective of that kid. As soon as he got suspicious, he wouldn’t even let you near him.”

 

“ _That kid_ is Peter Parker,” Stark snaps. “And since you and Barnes already beat him up once before-”

 

Romanov breaths “ _Spider-Man_. That little boy is Spider-Man! And who put him in that position, Stark?”

 

Banner sighs at their squabbling, before recalling his own behavior in the lab. To Rogers, he says “Steve…Bucky and I have never…met before, have we?”

 

“No,” Rogers says, puzzled. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure he would’ve mentioned something about that.”

 

Banner chews his lower lip but says nothing. He doesn’t wish to stir anything up – Barnes – their own Barnes – is not currently alive and he was not certain anyway. There was a shadow of affection for young James on his own features but perhaps that was a touch of compassion.

\---

Firmly, Steven tells Natalia “We _are_ going to find a way to get you out of these.”

 

She looks unconcerned, but it would be rather nice to be able to go to the bathroom or sit down without consulting him first.

 

From behind them, a voice says, “I got it.”

 

Natalia’s breath catches – he is like James and the Soldier, but this is the Archer. This green-eyed boy will one day be the Archer.

 

The curly haired boy – Robert – in the corner blushes when he talks to her or looks at her, and it makes Natalia feel…feel…

 

She does not know what this feeling is. (Safe?)

 

The talkative, slender boy sometimes looks over at her and that gives her a different feeling, but she can name it. Wanting. Powerful.

 

She is accustomed to men wanting to possess her, but Anthony stares as though he’d do anything to have her reach out to him.

 

Natalia is not used to having power over anyone but her victims or feeling pleasure that does not end in punishment. Biting her lip as she looks back into Clinton’s sparkling green gaze…she would like to get used to it.

 

Clinton’s mouth quirks at her, a smirk that suggests he is thinking about something he’d like to do to her. A gentle ‘click’ signals the lock on the cuffs opening and he grins “Viola, Madam.”

 

“ _Spasibo_.”

 

James and Steven stare with awe out at the view of the city they had lived in all their lives, so familiar and so foreign all at once. “I still can hardly believe it!” James breathes. “Two-thousand-and-eighteen! And Stevie – you look like a movie star!”

 

Steven shoves his shoulder and then points “ _I_ look like – Buck, _that’s_ you!”

 

James glances over to where to he points and his mouth drops.

 

Bucky notices the attention and catches Steven’s eye, grinning widely and loping over to them from across the room, heart swelling at the sight of that small beloved boy. “Pretty neat, isn’t it?” he murmurs, as if they are still in 1938 together, two boys whispering so that the priest won’t hear them at Mass. “I should have you meet Shuri, but then you’ll think we’re making everything up.”

 

Anthony breathes “Oh my god, you’re actually Bucky Barnes” and then flushes red because Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were the reason that he’d known he liked boys in the first place. Dad assumed that the Bucky posters in his room were a fascination with the Stark-Captain America legacy and not because Anthony wanted to be on his knees for a man in uniform.

 

Clinton protests “I told you I wasn’t making it up!”

 

Bucky grins at him, a twinkle in his eye. Little Anthony is very cute, but he doesn’t want to scare Steven or give James a heart attack, so he’ll keep that observation to tell Tony later. Little Clinton, on the other hand, was nothing but trouble and that was a kettle of fish indeed because that meant James would have a hard time resisting him.

 

From Steven’s side, Natalia tells him “ _Oni osobennyye - kak vy! No ya ne znayu, pochemu._.”

 

The boys gape all over again when Bucky nods and answers “ _Oni vse vashi.”_

 

Appalled, Natalia says “ _All_ five _of them_?” Even her curls quiver with outrage – or excitement, it’s hard to say. “ _How shall I manage all of them at once_?”

 

“ _You don’t manage all five at once. We’re perfectly happy to engage with one another, Natalia_ ,” Bucky replies, amused.

 

“Oh,” she murmurs, clearly picturing just such a thing.

 

Louder, he says “Bruce, please give the boys a quick rundown of the house rules. I need to speak with Anthony and Natalia for a moment in private.”

 

Out in the hallway, he leads them over to one of the seating areas at the large wall of windows overlooking the city. “Tony has already told Anthony and now I have just told Natalia,” he clarifies, at their confused stares. “However, you are not allowed to talk about it with the other four. Or with anyone else. Not until we get rid of our other guests.”

 

“Why?” Anthony demands immediately. “There’s something you aren’t telling us.”

 

Bucky sighs. It would not have occurred to Natalia at this age to question him – he should’ve known that Anthony would be his problem child. “Because, _gattino_ , I am the reason your parents are dead.”

 

Even Natalia looks horrified at this pronouncement. All Anthony can manage is a weak “What…?”

 

Bucky’s heart hurts. God, he doesn’t even look angry – actually, he would feel better if he looked angry. No, Anthony looks like Bucky has taken all of his hopes and dreams and smashed them to the floor in front of him.

 

“My…he…” he glances back to the room where the others are.

 

“No,” Bucky says gently. “No, not him. James hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”

 

Anthony clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring with useless anger. “Because we weren’t brought here at the same points in time.”

 

“That’s correct.” Bucky reaches out and squeezes his hand, surprised that Anthony will allow his touch.

 

He tells them everything, from the terrible night of discovery with Zemo in Siberia, to December of 1991, to the Winter Soldier, to Azzano in 1943.

 

By the time he has finished, Anthony is crying bitterly. “It’s already started – you have to _do_ something!”

 

“Steve and I are trying, _gattino_ , I promise,” he says soothingly. “Your journey has interrupted the streams of time, so we’re trying to make sure this doesn’t become the future – yours _or_ his. It’s too late for us, though, and Stark is still very, very angry with Barnes and the others and he has every right to be. But…Bruce believes that they don’t hear the music like we can, in their world.”

 

Anthony stares at his, eyes narrowed, reading more in what he does not say than what he does. “The six of you think that if those five figure out what’s going on, they’re going to try and fuck it up.”

 

“I can’t blame them,” Bucky agrees. “But it’s easier to keep them in the dark than try and explain something they can’t – or won’t – understand. Something that will likely upset them a lot. And…”

 

“And?” Natalia prompts, a bit impatiently.

 

Bucky firmly suppresses a smile at her attitude. “James and Steven…will not find this news easy to take. I…I had…a lot of thoughts and feelings about Steve. As a kid. As a teenager. Once I joined the service. But I never acted on any of it, because even the two of us being together would have seemed like an impossible prospect back then. It’s easy for us _now_ , but we’ve been through a lot and the notion of six is…still a scandal, but it’s not something any of you can be jailed for.”

 

He glances between them. “You’re both great with people, and I know you can do this. Tony and Natasha are head of the press crew, so I have faith that you’ll be able to work this out. Which reminds me…” Bucky gives Natalia a sharp stare. “FRIDAY is the AI that monitors this entire Tower and if she tells me about anybody sticking their dick in you, Natalia, I’m coming down to beat someone’s ass.”

 

“That isn’t fair – you aren’t her father!” Anthony protests. “And you’re…wait, how old are you?”

 

“Seventeen.”

 

“Yeah, she’s above the age of consent!”

 

Bucky sighs. “Natalia, would you ever say no to one of them if it were necessary?”

 

Anthony of course expects her to give the obvious answer: yes. “Why would it be necessary for me to say no?”

 

He looks pained. “Perhaps they were hurting you. Perhaps it did not feel good. Would you say no then? Tell them to stop?”

 

She looks more puzzled than ever. “Why would I do that?”

 

To his satisfaction, Anthony looks disgusted. “This is why,” Bucky tells him gently. “This is why I don’t want any of you having sex with her. The others are consenting adults, Anthony, I can’t stop you if want to talk them into bed with you. But Natalia doesn’t understand basic consent. She will say yes because it’s never occurred to her that she is allowed to say no.”

 

“But I want it!” Natalia says angrily, a flash of her older self shining through. “She said that James was mine, and now you say that they are _all_ mine, and yet you make rules so that even when I say yes, the answer will still be no!”  

 

They can both see Bucky hesitating, though Anthony will not know why. Sex was used a weapon against himself and Natalia – it was used to torture them, a way to keep him complaint and a way to punish Natalia for asking for what _she_ wanted rather than what her handlers wanted. He does not want to continue this cycle of withholding what she freely asks for, but he is also afraid for her.

 

“No sex,” he says finally, and looks Anthony in the eye. “No actual penetration of any kind. Nothing that requires a safe word. And the others? You don’t leave her alone with them, Anthony.”

 

“They-they would not hurt me,” Natalia says, not strong enough to be a statement nor did it allow itself to be a question.

 

“You would not tell them if they did, _malyshka_ ,” he says gently. “They don’t understand the rules, Anthony – if you want the privilege of access, you gain the duty of being responsible for what happens to her.”

 

“O-okay,” Anthony answers uncertainly, glancing over at Natalia. “Uh, you said no penetration…?”

 

“I’m reasonably certain you can figure something out, Anthony.” Bucky asserts, brow raised.

 

“Oh, hell yes I can.” Anthony vows, immediately standing up. “We’re going to find a bathroom, don’t wait up.”

 

Bucky sighs. “FRIDAY…just make sure they don’t hurt each other.”

 

“Can do, Sergeant Barnes.”

\---

Natalia is not sure what she expects when Anthony takes her into a restroom and locks the door. Definitely not for him to sit on the seat of the loo and pull her onto his lap. “You can hang onto me,” he says, amused, after a moment of Natalia’s hesitant fluttering. His dark eyes twinkle up at her, as if inviting her to share in a joke. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

 

“No,” she scoffs. The Soldier and the Archer filled her with that particular kind of fear, but Anthony does not make her feel this way. “Can you touch me now?”

 

He bursts into giggles, grinning wildly. “Wow, that’s direct. I don’t hate it.” He gives her a sly look and gently traces his finger around the neckline of her dress. “Touch you where, _fragolina_?”

 

Natalia hesitates again for a moment, but not because she doesn’t know what she wants. She just doesn’t know how to say it in English and the only words she knows for it in Russian are very vulgar. The only time the Soldier was coherent – the last time she saw him in her own time – he called it…called it a ‘kitty’, which she was certain couldn’t be proper. (“ _Look at this, look what you brought me…god, that’s such a pretty kitty, Natalia. Pretty red kitty, she always wants a petting_.”)

 

So instead of answering him, she shoves Anthony’s hand down the front of her tights. “Definitely don’t hate that,” he says, still laughing. “You really – _Jesus_.”

 

They stare at each other, Anthony look up at her with wide, dark, hungry eyes. She bites her lip to silence a whimper as he slides his quick, clever hand over her slick hot folds. The silent whimper draws out into a low, desperate moan when he slips two fingers inside, spreading her body over them, slow but firm. “Oh,” he groans, swallowing against the flood of saliva that pools into his mouth at the feeling of Natalia’s soaking wet pussy clenching on his fingers. “Oh, you need it so bad, don’t you, gorgeous?”

 

“Huhhhhhh,” Natalia gasps. Moments ago, she was uncertain about even touching him and now she clenches her fingers into his shoulders, balancing on his lap with her toes on the tiles. Nylons slipping against the ceramic, she rocks against his fingers and moans with a noticeably thicker accent “Pl-please…I-I will do…whatever you want…just please…please _do not stop_ …”

 

“What if this is what I want, _mia fragolina_?” Anthony whispers, pressing his thumb against her clit. “Move your hips, yeah, yeah, fuck…just like that, sweetheart. Take as much as you want.”

 

“ _Oh! Boze moi_!” she cries with a shudder, arching and rubbing the front of her body against his, urgently trying to get more of his fingers inside. More friction. More touch. Just…more.

 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, using his free hand to unbutton the back of her dress. She whines unhappily about him leaning back to give a bit of space between their bodies and then makes a shocked sound when Anthony leans forward again to suckle her wetly over the lace of her bra.

 

He is in actual heaven, Natalia desperately holding his mouth against her breast as she rides his fingers. She comes like a fucking freight train, groaning continuously, her pussy throbbing and squeezing tight. Swearing, Anthony frantically opens the fly of his jeans before shoving the hand covered in her slick juices down his pants and jerking himself off. It takes two seconds and feels better than he can ever remember.

 

Natalia has no concept of an afterglow – every orgasm she’s ever received until now was done against the express wishes of her handlers. The Soldier was always violently dragged away against his will immediately afterwards and she would then receive her punishment.

 

The bathroom floor is clean enough, even if the tiles are freezing cold on her bare back. Anthony kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her and…she likes this part. She did not even know it existed, but she winds herself around him like a serpent, finding herself reluctant to let him go.

 

He’d promised that he would protect her, be responsible for her safety, but that had mostly been an automatic response. The fever of lust having past, he _feels_ that promise now and knows that he will keep it. Bucky was absolutely right – his mate becomes completely lost to herself in those moments, was willing to agree to any treatment and still did not believe he would do right by her.

 

But right now, she is safe and his.

 

Anthony smiles against her mouth, fingers trailing lazily up her thigh, and murmurs “Hello, Natalia.”

 

She feels her mouth curve upwards a little. His smile is endearing, infectious. She curls her fingers into his dark hair, gently scraping her nails over his scalp. “Hello, Anthony.”

\---

Steve likes to have a physical copy of the newspaper around, so they always have one laying around. It’s unfortunate for them that the particular copy they currently have is seen by Barton – it made Wanda laugh, so it was still hanging around the common area.

 

For some reason (maybe because the press need something better to do), it made the front fucking headline.

 

“Romance in Avengerland?”

 

Barton stares at the photograph and very eloquently says “What the ever-loving fuck?”

 

The picture beneath is the one from Tony and Natasha’s walk in Central Park. Barton has seen Pepper and Stark together for years, he’s never been at the Tower while they were separated. Even in his happiest moment, Stark never looked as utterly enthralled with Pepper as Tony does with Natasha during this picture of a simple conversation on an ordinary day.

 

Romanov looks at the photograph from over Barton’s shoulder and immediately wishes she hadn’t.

 

That…is her smile. Her _real_ smile. Tony is looking _at_ her and not through her, and Natasha looks back at him with her real smile.

 

What on earth is happening here?

 

The article describes Tony dancing with her during a charity event, many of the guests expressing surprise that Tony, recently divorced from his very short marriage to Pepper, had bothered to attend at all, and even more surprised that Natasha had allowed him to put his hands all over her in public.

 

“This still doesn't really explain how Wanda knew so quickly, but Tony always did like a redhead,” Barton mutters and then whistles. “Wow, I really didn’t see that one coming.”

 

He points to the appropriate paragraph and Romanov’s brows fly skyward. No indeed.

 

_Also spotted at this same gala – Dr. Bruce Banner and Sergeant Barnes, who were witnessed greeting each other with a passionate embrace by several other guests. No comment has been made by any of the Avengers at this time._

 

Rogers wordlessly hands them a tablet with a video clip on loop.

 

There is no sound but the whole group appears to be heading to a press release and Wanda is perched on Bucky’s right arm. As they are entering the building, a reporter seems to ask Wanda something that makes her tense, and the more he talks, the more uncomfortable she looks.

 

Bucky seems to take exception to this, given his reaction.

 

As he did with Peter and Stark earlier that day, Bucky outright snarls at the journalist, baring his teeth at the man and hissing something. The reporter doesn’t have half of Stark’s guts and rather than flinching and stopping in his tracks, rapidly takes several steps backwards, sweating and stammering.

 

Wanda visibly relaxes beside him as the journalist backs off and they continue making their way into the building.

 

“It was a TMZ reporter,” Stark remarks with interest. “I’m almost glad – those assholes are awful.”

 

“Shh,” Barton murmurs “I’m reading his lips…”

 

“Oh, what does he say?” Romanov asks, vaguely interested.

 

“No…No decent person…outta ask that…” he says slowly. “In my day…a man didn’t...something…nice ladies.”

 

“So, Bucky found what he asked her offensive?” Rogers clarifies.

 

Stark squints at the tablet, checking Wanda’s face. “From the looks of it, _she_ found what he asked her offensive. Shocking, I know.”

 

“Read this,” Banner says curtly, handing him the paper. He does not look happy.

 

Bruce’s earlier behavior in the lab was not coincidental at all.

 

It’s clear from Stark’s face that with every word he is more disbelieving.

 

“Alright, I’m with Barton on this one: what the ever-loving fuck.”


	3. i don't feel like dancin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, there is so much flirting.
> 
> I'm going to spend quite some time torturing our travelers because I just enjoy it so much. 
> 
> (Just like the first part, I leave all songs in the end notes to avoid spoilers)

 

“So,” Clinton drawls, peering up and trying to catch the hot boy’s eye. “Where are you from, then? Or maybe I should ask: _when_ are you from?”

 

This is an especially difficult feat because the hot boy insists on staring at the ground. “Harvard. December. 1992.”

 

“Hm, I think we’re the closest, then. Savannah. February. 1992,” Clinton whistles. “Harvard, eh? So, you’re cute _and_ smart.”

 

Robert glances up at him quickly through his lashes, dark curls falling in his face. His cheeks get pink as he begins stammering “I don’t, I’m _not_ , I’m sorry-”

 

Clinton grins, cat-like. He wants to eat him alive. God, he loves the shy ones. Robert is a sweet and slender treat. “Hey, I never said you were a queer. I just said you were _cute_.”

 

“I’m not-not o- _offended_ ,” Robert says, pulling nervously at his sleeves. “But I’m not… _not_ , um…”

 

“Cute?” Clinton repeats, watching him blush harder with glee. “Nope. I got eyes, sweetheart. Good ones. You are _definitely_ , positively, grade-A _delicious_.”

 

Behind them Clint and Bruce watch Clinton flirt outrageously as Robert becomes more and more flustered in the face of such direct attention.

 

“Are you picking on me for sport and pleasure?” Bruce demands, sounding both amused and exasperated.

 

“I’m not picking on you,” Clint grins. “I’m clearly trying to figure out the fastest way to get into your pants.”

 

“Precocious,” Tony says dryly. “Might wanna get Clinton to ease up there. Robert looks like he’s about to melt into the floor.”

 

Clint turns and raises his brows. “Oh, are we pretending Anthony’s not in a random bathroom right now finding ways to make Natalia very happy?”

 

“Quieter,” Bucky warns lowly. “Rogers is still in the room, so depending on your pitch, he could still hear you.”

 

Tony grimaces “Boy, do I hate just about everything about this.”

 

And the other five immediately say “ _Amen_.”

 

James turns away from the window, realizing that Steven is no longer beside him. Instead, Steven stares with shock at two of their fellow time travelers.

 

Clinton approaches Robert with a swaggering walk and particular smile that James is very familiar with, though he was never brazen enough to flirt with another man in public.

 

James hisses at Steven beneath his breath. “I know your mama taught you it’s rude to stare.”

 

“They’re, he’s-” Steven gulps and hisses back “ _They’re gonna get themselves arrested, Buck_!”

 

“No, they ain’t,” Bucky says calmly, perched on the back of a sofa. At least he has the courtesy to take his big heavy boots off first, which Clint has not – until Natasha walks behind him and slaps him in the back of the head. “It ain’t illegal now.”

 

James look at Clint with surprise. “Are you, _y’know_ …”

 

“An invert?” Steven finishes, as polite as someone from the 40’s could state a question like that.

 

Clint throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, boy. I promise, you’re gonna get real sick of this answer: yes, and no.” He shrugs. “If I see someone and I think they’re funny and smart, I don’t really think about what’s under their clothes, because I’m gonna like it either way.”

 

“What Clint’s really trying to say here,” Bucky drawls, throwing a knife at Peter and causing both boys to gasp with horror, even though Peter easily catches it in mid-air. This time, it’s him Natasha smacks over the head. “Is that he’s willing to fuck anything that walks on two legs.”

 

He leers at Bucky “Only if they’re real pretty.”

 

Steven’s eyes dart between them. He was never the top of his class, being that he was sick all the time and he didn’t always hear so well, but it looked to him like Clint was actin’ with Bucky exactly the way Clinton behaved toward Robert. More shockingly, Bucky leers back “I ain’t a cheap date, sailor.”

 

Natasha scoffs. “The two of you need to stop – this is more the _letter_ of the rules rather than the spirit, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes,” they both chorus, visibly sulking.

 

“You are grown men, please act like it. James, Pepper is requesting that you and Bruce begin dinner now. Judging from Tony’s expression, she has _not_ had a good day and we like to keep Pepper happy.”

 

“Yes, yes we do,” Bruce says fervently, getting up from his end of the couch. If they didn’t already know he had the Hulk under good control, then sitting next to Bucky and Clint while they hurl knives back and forth was a pretty good indication. “Coming with me, James?”

 

“Lead on, Macduff,” Bucky jokes, with a gracious sweeping gesture.

 

“It’s ‘ _lay on’_ , you cretin,” Bruce replies with a smile.

 

He leers. “I’ll do that too, darlin’, don’t worry.”

 

Natasha says, “For god’s- _leave the room_ before you start jerking each other off.”  

 

Steve sighs as Bucky and Bruce leave. “Why did we think we could do this?”

 

“Hubris,” Natasha sighs back.

\---

Anthony and Natalia return to…oh, god, the other time travelers would be their other soulmates, wouldn’t they?

 

They clean each other up – Anthony is an expert in aftermath clean up and Natalia is as meticulous as they come, so by the time they are finished, no one will be able to tell what they were doing.

 

“I do not care what Sol-what _Bucky_ says,” she informs Anthony. “If they will have us, I will take all of them.”

 

He has a rather enjoyable moment envisioning that. “I’m not saying that we shouldn’t because – fuck yes, we definitely should do that. But how do you propose that without freaking out The Olds?”

 

Natalia smirks, an expression he will become very frightened and very fond of all at once. “They have to send us to bed sometime. The Originals are worried about the Alternates – they won’t allow us to be housed near them if they can help it.”

 

“Oh, you are a little devil, _fragolina_ ,” Anthony says, enchanted. “Will the clever girl accept a kiss for her efforts?”

 

Just to be contrary, Anthony offers her an equally Natalia sniffs, feigning a touch-me-not expression, and says primly “She will.” Just to be contrary, Anthony offers her an equally prim kiss upon the apple of her cheek and Natalia looks offended. “I am not your mother or your sister!”

 

“Thank god, this could get pretty fucking awkward otherwise.” As Natalia glares at him, Anthony grins and gently slides his arms around her waist. He takes his time, coaxing her head to tilt just a little for a better angle and nibbling lightly on her bottom lip until she moans and relaxes further against him.

 

They separate, breathing hard again, and he seriously considers asking her if she’d like one for the road.

 

“You talk too much, Anthony,” she husks with heavy-lidded eyes, her accent faintly more pronounced, and then waltzes right out of the bathroom.

\---

“I have almost finished your torta, _tat’ka_ ,” Wanda informs him as soon as he walks into the room.

 

She has on her cherries-and-lemons apron, her hair tied back so that she can roll the pastry without it getting in her way. In front of her, she has ten savory pies of onions, parsley, and ricotta in front of her and she was carefully placing a latticework of crust over each one. Behind her is a mixed pickle platter the size one would normally expect to serve a Thanksgiving turkey on, mounded high.

 

“That isn’t Tony, _dcera_ ,” Bucky says, without even looking at him. “It’s Stark.”

 

At first, Stark thought he called her ‘Sarah’, which was the name of Steve’s late mother (deceased, as far as he could tell, for about eighty years), and he was going to make a comment about Bucky’s sudden lapse of memory. But Bucky had placed an extra emphasis on the first syllable, a word he’d intended as something other than English – like, oddly, enough Wanda’s address of ‘tat’ka’.

 

Having seen that video, he wonders with a bit of lurching nausea if Bucky has been fucking the little witch because that would explain his closeness to her and also his aggression towards the reporter. If that is the case, he won’t hesitate to inform Rogers what a sick fucking prick his friend is, murder or no murder. Wanda, even if you count his biological age rather than his chronological age, is still nearly young enough to be his daughter. Bucky sees Peter as a child, ( _not as a child, as_ his _child_ , Stark’s mind points out) but Peter and Wanda are only a year apart in age.

 

Even if he was, that wouldn’t explain much else, though.

 

He keeps his mouth shut, though there are questions on the tip of Stark’s tongue. _How did you know? The little witch knows that Barton and Romanov aren’t right within the first three minutes of talking to them, and you don’t even have to look at me to know I’m the wrong one._

 

Bucky is attending another eight massive platters waiting for food. A mixing bowl of diced eggs, potatoes and mayonnaise await his attention on the counter and a stack of cabbage leaves wait to be stuffed with filling and covered in sauce.

 

The Olivier salad is Natasha’s favorite, despite it not being Christmas Eve and despite Bucky’s recipe being closer to what Wanda ate in Sokovia. He does not and will not add bologna because Pepper, Bruce, and Sam find it objectionable and he agrees with them, Depression era cuisine or not. The cabbage rolls he makes because they are feeding one god, five superhumans, and fifteen other people and he can make cabbage rolls in his sleep, blindfolded, and with both hands tied behind his back.

 

Farther into the kitchen, Bruce had FRIDAY courier in extra fish and now manages a small butcher’s shop worth of trout and mackeral in the oven as well as the  scallops on the stove, and an approximate bathtub’s worth of beurre blanc.

 

Stark blinks. “That’s my aunt’s recipe,” he informs Wanda, staring at the rows of perfectly made pies “Aunt Isabella’s torta.”

 

“Yes,” Wanda says demurely, but won’t look at him now. Seems reluctant to even acknowledge his presence.

 

Jesus, what the fuck is going on with these people?

 

Stark wouldn’t say that he’s ever been particularly close to Maximoff, but he’s tried to do right by the girl, and she’s never been _this_ stilted with him. She shut him down the moment she realized he isn’t the original.

 

Bucky pauses to glance at him. His scent is the comforting blend of motor oil and expensive cologne usually present on Tony, but his own Tony still has the faint whiff of Steve’s aftershave about him from this morning’s long goodbye. He hadn’t noticed earlier because Stark had Rogers standing right next to him, but standing by himself in the kitchen, the difference to Bucky was obvious.

 

Still, it’s a little hard to ignore the urge to comfort him, even when Bucky knows that his comfort isn’t wanted. “Need something there, Stark?”

 

“Pepper,” he says bluntly. “You have a Pepper Potts here, right?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky says slowly, suddenly displaying the same reluctance as Wanda. “What d’you want with Miss Pepper?”

 

Stark is pleased with his respectful title for Pepper, but still sneers. “I’d like to actually talk with someone I like.”

 

_I’d like to talk with someone who likes me. Hopefully someone who can explain what the fuck is going on around this lunatic’s asylum, because there is no possible universe in which I divorce Pepper to begin a relationship with the Red Menace._

 

“Virginia will be down for dinner,” Bruce says shortly. “James, hands!”

 

“Yes, chef!” Bucky answers cheekily, shoving his metal arm into a pot of boiling water and scooping out several very lightly poached eggs.

 

Stark swallows, suddenly recalling the pieces of information they’d seen in the newspaper. Bruce, curt but courteous, gives instructions on the Caesar dressing and Bucky’s flirting is automatic and shameless. Stark honestly can’t tell if Bucky is genuine or it’s just a part of his interactions with people.

 

Accounts of Barnes – the Barnes from his world – all agree that he was quite a lady’s man, but behavior this flagrant toward another man would’ve been frowned upon to say the least. Then again, that newspaper publication was hardly any proof, all evidence gathered from unnamed witnesses. But the chance that they are actually in a relationship is suddenly _not_ zero.

 

Somewhere, idly in the back of Stark’s mind, the theme from The Twilight Zone begins playing.

\---

Stark returns from his brief disappearance looking even more grumpy, but Barton chooses to ignore him in favor of watching what’s going on in the center of the room. Honestly, there are so many things going on, even he couldn’t watch them all at once.

 

“What the hell is this monstrosity?” Barton asks, as Tony and Peter wander around the EUTERPE console. Tony is talking at a rate so astonishingly fast and about something so astonishingly complicated that it barely resembles English, but the kid seems to be following along just fine.

 

Robert stares at it with a glimpse of poor-hidden fear. “How did you get such an advanced ESM?”

 

Steven and James both look puzzled as well. “What’s an ESM?”

 

“That is an Electro-Soul Swing Machine, first invented by Howard Stark in 1958,” he informs Barton. To James and Steven, he says “We call it an ‘ESM’ for short.”

 

“I’ve only seen an ESM Gold once,” Robert admits. “I’ve never been anyway near a Platinum console.”

 

“Did you use it?” Anthony asks, faux innocently.

 

“No,” he mutters, a lie if he’s ever told one, causing Natalia to narrow her eyes at him in thought.

 

“I barely remember what a Platinum looks like,” Tony says airily, causing Robert, Anthony, and Clinton to gape with surprise. “Platinum was the last model Howard worked on, released in 1977. I started working on it around the time I first went to MIT, and we released the Diamond edition in 1999. Millennium came out in 2011, and it’s pretty much the standard in ESM now.”

 

“But,” Steven says slowly. “What does it _do_?”

 

Steve, playing some kind of card game with Wanda, looks over and phrases it in a way he knows his younger self can understand. “It will play your Lullaby when you touch it.”

 

He and James inhale sharply and stare at the console with renewed awe. At their level of history, to be able to hear your own Echo at will was something they could hardly conceive of. If you were rich, you might own a gramophone or record player, and if you had a blank record and a lot of free time, you might eventually coax a sound that would give you an idea of that Echo. If you were a priest or a mystic, you might have an instrument of some kind and learn the meditations and methods to enter a trance deep enough to hear it.

 

But again, that was a course for someone who had money for an instrument and lots of free time, something that people of James and Steven’s social class could never hope for. They would barely come up with the money for the rent most months, and for many people, not just any musical instrument would do – you needed to find one suited to your Echo to achieve any real results. If you choose incorrectly, it could become very expensive and disappointing very quickly.

 

Of course, most people back before the ESM was created knew how to play at least one instrument. Like Steve, Steven probably knew the fiddle – it was an important instrument to Irish music and Sarah would not have let him play anything that required his own breath. James, like Bucky, probably knew how to play a tin whistle, also very important in Ireland.

 

But there was a really big difference in knowing the basics of a tune and spending hours perfecting your skill, and neither of them could ever afford to do that. “I think they were speaking English,” Barton tells his own companions. “They were speaking English, right? Did you understand any of that?”

 

“Why would you need a lullaby, you’re all adults,” Rogers says, puzzled.

 

“My father never invented that,” Stark informs Tony curtly, prowling in circles around him and the console. “I’ve never seen this in my life.”

 

Tony, more for Peter’s benefit, waves his hand over the main console pad, hovering near it. Ribbons of scarlet light swirl and flicker within the pillar. Peter looks excited and intrigued. “You implemented my sensor upgrades?”

 

He grins at him. “No way to properly test them without installing them.” Tony brings his hand slightly closer and the sound of indistinct murmuring begins to fill the room. Because he knows what to expect, Tony can detect Etta humming faintly within the noise. “Works pretty well, too.”

 

From the corner of his vision, he sees Stark move to touch EUTERPE and grabs him by the arm before he can do so. Quietly, he stares at his counterpart and says, “You really, really do not want to do that.”

 

“You didn’t exactly give a clear answer as to what it does,” Stark observes, sneering.

 

“It’s designed to scan your brain and provide a musical description of what it finds,” Peter pips up helpfully. “We call it an Echo. But you shouldn’t touch it unless you want everyone in the room to know some of your deepest thoughts.”

 

Tony is gratified, both for Peter’s timely involvement and of the expression of wary horror on the newcomer’s expression. Looking nauseated, Banner says “Tony, why do you have that thing right in the Tower?”

 

“It’s not bad,” Peter says hastily. “Everyone has one, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

 

“Oh my god,” Stark moans “Please stop, I don’t need the birds and the bees lecture from you, Underoos.”

 

“He is right, though,” Wanda says with a sniffs, shuffling the cards in her hand. “Every creature capable of self-realization has one.” She smiles like a cat that has the cream, leaning across the table to say sweetly, “Gin, _vlitel’_.”

 

Bemused, Steve does a double-take at his handful of cards and begins laughing. “God _damn_ it.” He sighs and throws his cards down. “Clint, it’s your turn for this humiliation, I fold.”

 

“Mister Stark, may I use your EUTERPE?” Natalia asks Tony, oddly formal and primly. “I have never heard my own.”

 

Not ‘I’ve never seen one’ – ‘I’ve never heard mine’.

 

Tony, despite the fact that they both know she can kill him in twenty ways with her bare hands, is charmed. She isn’t being maliciously deceptive, Natalia just feels safer letting people assume that she’s harmless. She isn’t naïve, either, with her upbringing she’s just about as jaded as it comes.

 

But that upbringing has led her to experience the worst of what humanity has to offer without experiencing the best and he is honestly overjoyed that his younger self has the privilege of leading her there. There is a wonder to her at the brand new, at the goodness that life can bring to her. Judging from Anthony’s reaction to her, he has already begun to see it. (He’ll have to pull Anthony aside later though, and give him a discussion about making such cow-eyes at her.)

 

“You may, Miss Romanova,” he says gently, taking her hand like an old world gentleman and leading her up to the platform. “She awaits your hand – you’ll have to keep contact unless you want the song to stop.”

 

Rather than drums, Natalia’s song is punctuated by distant clapping and unlike Natasha, it is not her own voice that speaks for her. Silver spiderwebs swirl within, lights flickering as her brain is lit up by scanners.

 

“ _Baby, I’m a queen…so why do you call me ‘baby’? It’s been about a week, it’s too soon for nicknames…”_ Breathily, _“You tire me out but fill me up, and I don’t mind it very much. You do not wait to wake me up…too soon for mourning_ …”

 

She does not react until the chorus, a strange smile down at her hand as the voice rises sharply. “ _I might prefer desire to self-control. I might prefer crying to being composed. I might prefer chaos to even flow…it’s too soon for sense, though_ …”

 

Natalia does not remove her hand, letting the music throb and swell, and when the song ends – hard and furious, Natasha says “Do you _really_ think that’s a good idea?”

 

“No, I think it’s what I want,” the girl responds.

 

And they both know that’s why Natasha won’t stop her. It isn’t often that young Natalia is allowed to have any opinion on what she does. In this strange new world, she is allowed nothing but opinions.

 

Low, Barton asks “What is she doing?”

 

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Romanov answers honestly.

 

A soft howl fills the room, and a soothing male voice murmurs, “ _The door slammed loud and rose up a cloud of dust…on us. Footsteps follow, down through the hollow sound – torn up. And you will go to Mykonos, with a vision of a gentle coast_ …”

 

“ _Brother, you don’t need to turn me away! I was waiting down at the ancient gate_ …” Steven shivers at the eerie tone and James shifts closer. “ _I remember how they took you down…as the winter turned the meadow brown. You go…wherever you go today. You go today_!”

 

Curiously, Natalia’s eyes keep finding Robert, trying to hide out in a corner, his face looking stark and pale.

 

James and Steven both look shocked, though not disgusted, when another song starts. This song, rather than the strange uncanniness of the last one, has a simple, easy sensuality to it.

 

“ _Where’d you get those fancy clothes? Where’d you get those, goodness knows! Just show some civility…act nice, act nice and gentle to me_!” A reluctant kind of smile pulls at Natalia’s lovely face. “ _I don’t need no luxuries, ‘long as you are understanding…I’m not difficult to please! Act nice and gentle to me._ ”

 

The fourth song bursts outward, seemingly unable to contain itself within her. “ _There is a fire…in the sea! And it burns in you and me! There is a song that sings to souls…a voice guiding us back home...Listen_!”

 

It is undeniable, nearly shaking the room as it vibrates the whole floor, barely controlled by EUTERPE’s programming. “ _Say my name – I will be by your side! Say my name – when it’s gotta be your beacon in the night! COME HOME! COME HOME TO ME!”_

 

The power of it leaves everyone shaken, and so the fifth song, despite being shocking to most of the time travelers, is almost relaxing. Even if some of the lyrics are a touch…disturbing?

“ _Being your own savior, savior, is it saving you? Rocks and gravel build a road, that’s alright, but you’re on your own. Take me back to that midnight moon! Cradle me, at that midnight moon_ …”

 

Natalia’s eyes flicker up to Robert’s, watching her, silent and absolutely mortified. Realizing that she is watching him back, watching him with the intensity that a cat watches a mousehole. “ _All of me is all for you and what I’ve got to give is not enough…It’s a dark night_ …”

 

Parts of Anthony he did not even know were tense relax at the start of the sixth. It helps that half of the people in the room don’t even know how revealing this or who the song belongs to.

 

“ _All I need…is someone like you. My dearest darling, please love me, too! Within my heart…please say your answer’s yes_!” By the ending, Natalia is smiling openly, sweetly, down at her folded hands. “ _Oh nothing, nothing, nothing in this world…can keep us apart! My dearest darling – I am offering you my heart_!”

 

“You’ve got so many,” Steven breathes, awed and terrified. Realizing that probably sounded like a criticism, he hastens to add “You must have a big heart.”

 

A small gust of air leaves Natalia’s nose, her version of laughter. In fact, most people would imply something else by her number of soulmates, many of those things not very nice. Steven is…a kind boy. She was glad to have them before, but now, hearing the sound of them surrounding her, Natalia is proud, too.

 

No wonder Yegor and Bronislava made sure she never heard them. Nothing ever would’ve been able to hold her there with the knowledge of them painting dear pictures in her mind.

 

They all have such kind, beautiful souls too. Passionate, gentle, and loving. No force on earth could make her ashamed to have them.

 

 _No matter_ , she thought, glancing over at the blond woman watching with narrowed eyes, _no matter what others might think_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Baby I'm a Queen" by Sofi Tukker, "Mykonos" by Fleet Foxes, "Act Nice and Gentle" by The Blacks Keys, "Atlantis" by Popeska (ft. Anna Yvette), "Saviour" by George Ezra (ft. First Aid Kit), and "My Dearest Darling" by Etta James


	4. (shut up and) dance with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any dialogue you recognize here is property of Marvel.

Bruce announces to the room that dinner is now served on the common floor. In order to seat twenty-five people at a table only designed for twelve, Bucky had to pull the dining table from Floor 201.

 

Wanda uses magic to carry most of the meal, and the moment Bruce appears near the head of the table, the originals of the universe – the rest of the Sinister Six, Peter, May, Sam, Pepper, and Rhodey – all stand and clap the moment they see him.

 

Dryly, Bruce says “I’ve already made the dinner, there’s no need.”

 

Cheeky, Peter says “It might get us dessert!”

 

“Don’t push your luck,” Bruce replies, but he is smiling, so no one takes him at face value.

 

Farther down the table, Barton murmurs “Any time someone wants to explain to me what’s going on here, I’m _all_ fucking ears.”

 

Romanov, glancing at Bruce and then back to Banner, says “I’ve never seen you look this relaxed.”

 

Rogers diplomatically decides to avoid applying the same sentiment to _her_. Around the people in this universe, the red-haired Natasha has smiled more all evening than Romanov has in the entire time he’s known her – a particularly strong contrast with the silent and solemn little redhaired girl farther down the table, who seems absolutely fascinated by Steven and James nervously taking in the room and Clinton and Anthony’s back-and-forth banter.

 

Banner gives her a nod, barely moving his head. “I assume he’s found a way to remove the Other Guy.”

 

Stark snorts. “There are way more changes going on here than insta-Karaoke, that’s for sure. I wanna know how your boy Bucky knows which one I am without even having to _look_ at me. Or how he and the good doctor here have apparently ended up boning.”

 

Banner blushes furiously, but has no way to contradict this. Romanov leans back in her chair, eyeing the original people with a calculating stare.

 

“Tony,” Pepper says, gaining Stark’s attention, though not intentionally. “I’ve renegotiated terms with the press pool now that your star player is back in commission but I’m going to need a new date set ASAP or some of them are going to come back with some pretty nasty speculations.”

 

Tony rubs his beard in a way that Stark and Pepper both recognize as masking anxiousness. “Can I get back to you on that? Not like, back to you in a week, but back to you like tomorrow?”

 

“Works for me.”

 

Romanov murmurs “The two of you don’t behave like recently divorced exes” to Stark, watching Pepper’s body language. The woman is professional but not cold or indifferent, slightly impatient but not angry with Tony. They don’t act like a couple who were married and then almost immediately divorced.

 

Glancing over at Natasha, Romanov wonder uneasily if Tony divorced Pepper to begin a relationship with his teammate. If, perhaps, he’d already started one while still married – Stark loved Pepper Potts, she had a hard time believing he would leave for any reason, but here it had clearly happened.

 

Odder still, the group here seemed quite similar to their own in most aspects of personality. Except that these people seemed to all be infuriatingly happy. In her experience, that could only mean that something truly awful was going on.

 

Farther down the table, Robert picks at his plate. The food is delicious, but he hardly notices. He is many things, but a fool was never one of them. Natalia has six songs. Six Echoes.

 

Their group, the group of time-travelers, is five men and one woman.

 

Six.

 

Robert knows that he has at least three songs, himself and two soulmates, and all three of those songs matched to hers – her own song, his song, and the voice that pleaded with the listener to come home.

 

Which meant that the other four travelers were likely his soulmates.

 

Banner from the land of no music looked even unhappier than Robert is, worn down and exhausted and _finished_. Bruce from the future is relaxed, serene – nearly as quiet and reserved as he is – but he is _included_ , and _acknowledged_.

 

In fact, all of the people from the land of no music, trying to retrieve their loved-ones from his understanding, look like pale shadows of the people from this world. They wear their sadness and dissatisfaction like clothing. It nearly hurts just to look at them, and Robert wonders if this is why, because they are all connected in some way.

 

Connected.

 

Or rather, ‘ _connected’_.

\---

Because everything about this day was designed to go to hell in a handbasket, the devil himself came for a visit.

 

Well, alright, it was Loki (and Thor).

 

But close enough.

 

“We received Odinson’s messages and Quill tells me you have a matter of some…urgency…” Loki says haughtily, striding into the room and pausing, left almost speechless at the scene before him. “Dear sweet Frigga…”

 

Odinson leaps from his chair so quickly he nearly dumps food in half the table’s laps and Thor, alarmed, immediately pulls Loki to the side, Valkyrie appearing from seemingly nowhere with a dagger in her hand pointed at Odinson’s throat. “Careful, Highness,” she says with a cool stare. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

 

“Brother,” he whispers, with only eyes for Loki.

 

“Stand down, Brunnhilde,” Loki says quietly. “He is perhaps a little mad, but no danger, at least not to me.” Holding out the dusky blue hand which Thanos tried to sever from his body, he says “Give me the gauntlet, Thor son of Odin.”

 

Loudly, from across the room, Barton demands “Give you- are you honestly kidding me right now? Give me one reason I shouldn’t make you eat an arrow!”

 

Odinson tenses, but Thor is calm and so is Loki. “I can give two, Clinton, son of Bernard,” he says mildly. “Firstly: I was as coerced as you were,” he says mildly. “Second: I once saved something precious to you, despite your own interference.”

 

He watches Clint’s eyes dart to Wanda and knows that the original man has caught on to the event he was referring to. Quiet, with something like despair, Rogers says “Let him see it, Thor.”

 

The gauntlet from the other universe is just as ugly as the one Loki and Thor managed to destroy – not, he thinks grimly, glancing at the color of his right arm, without considerable cost.

 

Loki turns it in his hand, eyeing the five stones set into each knuckle. That was certainly different. Thanos hadn’t been able to complete his set before they had intervened as one group.

 

“You say your brother in your world has died?” he questions clinically.

 

Odinson, looking grimmer and more defeated than he’s ever seen his own brother, nods.

 

“Show me.” Odinson’s brow pinches with confusion, but then Loki repeats it, looking directly at the gauntlet, his thumb caressing the smooth gold. “Show me the death of Loki, son of Odin and Frigga by way of Laufey.”

 

Multiple guests at the dinner table leap up and scramble away, the floor suddenly covered in smoking fires and dead bodies. Thor realizes with horror that Heimdall is among the wounded and dying.

 

Ebony Maw, odious creature that he is, walks among the dying men and women, his oily voice the last thing many of them will ever hear again. “Hear me and rejoice..”

 

Thanos’ other children are executing the struggling survivors around the room, surrounding one figure left standing in the ruins.

 

“You may think this is suffering…no. It is salvation. Smile! For even in death, you have become Children of Thanos.”

 

Laufeyson tries to hide it, but he is nervous – waxy looking and pale. Before him stands Thanos, who lifts the wounded and limp Odinson like a ragdoll. “Dread it, run from it,” Thanos informs Laufeyson, surrounded on all sides by the Black Order. “Destiny arrives just the same. And now it’s here. Or should I say: I am.”

 

“You talk too much,” Odinson says, choking on his own blood.

 

Laufeyson’s lips press together grimly, an uncanny mirror of Loki’s current expression.

 

“The Tesseract,” Thanos booms, the purple light of the Power stone glowing within the gauntlet. “Or your brother’s head. I assume you have a preference?”

 

“Oh, I do,” he answers coldly. “Kill away.”

 

Thanos barely pauses a moment, before raising his fist to press the stone directly into Odinson’s temple, who howls with pain. Laufeyson’s lips part briefly in horror, trembling slightly with each of his brother’s screams. They can all see him breaking before he finally cries “All right, STOP!”

 

Odinson weakly groans “We don’t _have_ the Tesseract! It was destroyed on Asgard…”

 

Laufeyson bows his head briefly, looking sick with himself, before raising his right hand, the cube appearing in his fingertips. The light it emits gives his eyes an eerie, unearthly glow as he approaches Thanos while looking at Odinson. To his brother he says, “I assure you, brother…the sun will shine on us again.”

 

Chuckling, Thanos says “Your optimism is misplaced, Asgardian.”

 

“Well, for one thing, I’m not Asgardian,” Laufeyson informs him flippantly, regaining some of his bravado. “And for another…we have a Hulk.”

 

Right on cue, his green former nemesis charges right past the group, the Tesseract falling to the ground as the Hulk plows straight into Thanos. They are all astonished to see how handily the Titan is able to beat him, before sweeping Odinson aside like a fly, Ebony Maw using pieces of scrap to pin him down.

 

Heimdall, blood pooling around him, meets Odinson’s eyes. “Allfathers…let the dark magic flow through me…one last time…”

 

The Bifrost picks the Hulk up, sweeping him swiftly down to Earth. He is unflinching as Thanos approaches him. “That was a mistake.”

 

Thor roars in rage as the blade pierces Heimdall’s heart, sobbing “You’re going to _die_ …for that!”

 

Ebony Maw adds another binding to his mouth, silencing him. Watching him present the Tesseract to Thanos is nauseating, as is watching him insert another stone into the gauntlet and direct the Black Order to the Earth.

 

Nearly as oily as Ebony Maw, Laufeyson tries to persuade Thanos to ally with him again but nearly everyone in the room can see how unconvinced he is, how messy his attempt at tricky. When Thanos grabs him by the throat, he wriggles furiously, thrashing like a worm on a hook, choking as the titan begins crushing his windpipe, the rims of his eyes turning red as the vessels burst from the pressure.

 

His last words are perhaps the strangest ever uttered: “You will never…be…a god…”

 

Nearly everyone flinches at the sound of his neck finally giving way, and Thanos deposits Laufeyson’s corpse at his brother’s feet. “No resurrections this time.”

 

The room returns to normal, and Loki looks at the gauntlet even more critically than before. “That was very stupid of him.”

 

Hesitantly, trying to cover how shaken he is, Thor says “That was…sloppier than you normally are.”

 

“Yes,” Loki agrees simply. To Odinson – to all of the visitors from their world – he says, “I believe I can fix this, but first I will need your brother’s help. Rather…it will be much faster if I have him here.”

 

More confused and heartbroken than ever, Odinson says “My brother…is dead…”

 

Loki murmurs something to the gauntlet and half of the stones light up – blue, yellow, and orange. Made of orange threads of light, Gamora stands with eyes closed, appearing to be slumbering. The figure of yellow is Vision, also appearing to be asleep. In blue is Laufeyson, who not only does not sleep, his flickering image seems to pace before them.

 

He nods in satisfaction. “As I thought,” Loki says smugly. “Very sloppy.”

 

“How-how do we get him back,” Odinson asks desperately. His brother does not seem to see anyone in the room.

 

“Your Loki has transferred himself into the Space stone, but he seems to have been panicking while he did it – I cannot simply extract him likes the others.”

 

Bluntly, Stark says “No offense to the god of bright ideas, but why do we need to have the god of madness back?”

 

With exaggerated patience, Loki replies “Because I will need to _manually_ extract the Vision from the Mind stone and Gamora from the Soul stone, as well as manually reversing the elimination of your loved ones. I cannot preform such a task alone. Miss Maximoff’s powers are a direct result of the stones themselves, and thus would not be a wise choice. Strange uses Chaos magic, when we will need Cthonic magic.” To his brother, he says “I will need a fiddle made the old way, some of your blood, a paint brush, and several full strands of Brunnhilde’s hair.”

 

Nodding, Thor makes to leave, presumably to find these items, when Loki suddenly grabs his arm “It must be made of _real_ bone, Thor – unless you wish to see my corpse shamble around the room. Perhaps you should speak with the Strange Doctor.”

 

As unusual as these requests were, it did not really seem to take Thor long to acquire these items. Luckily dinner had concluded, as most of the dinner guests were no longer able to stomach the thought of eating anything after witnessing that scene.

 

As a group, they follow Thor, Loki, and Brunnhilde back to EUTERPE’s console room, the walls around packed with people watching.

 

Odinson watches Loki hand the gauntlet to Thor and for the first time, he lets himself believe that he may really get his brother back. Then Loki unstrings the bow and sits upon the sofa with a bowl and the paintbrush he asked for. “Brunnhilde,” he murmurs, “If you would please donate your hair.”

 

Sighing, the Valkyrie allows him to cut a section off the back, laying the strands carefully beside the blood. He hands the same dagger to Thor “-and your donation as well, brother.”

 

Blood from Thor’s elbow is collected into the small vessel, less than an inch full. With trepidation, Odinson asks “What will you do?”

 

Loki gives him a bare glance. He has used Thor’s blood to paint a branching design into the white bone, and the strings of the fiddle he is replacing using Brunnhilde’s hair. “I’m going to summon up his soul and order it forth, with mine.” With his arm very straight, he tests the instrument with a few notes, playing a short scale. The bone-fiddle’s voice is beautiful and filled with sorrow. “This would be easier with Asgardian technology, but Stark’s creation will suffice – Thor, hold the gauntlet over the scanner and don’t touch it to the pad.”

 

Nodding, Thor does as ordered, and Loki pauses a moment before setting the bow to the strings with more purpose, his voice clear and measured. Quietly, Tony orders FRIDAY to begin a translation – he’s allowed Loki the benefit of the doubt, but he won’t allow him to use EUTERPE and remain ignorant to that use. Obliging, she displays her translation for the whole room:

 

_A man went out in the wide forest,_

_hei fara, in the wide forest._

_There he heard a crow croon from the hills._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_And the man he thought to himself,_

_hei fara, he thought to himself:_

_"I think that crow wants me dead."_

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_So the man turned his horse around,_

_hei fara, his horse around,_

_and went back to his homestead._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_And the man drew his bow by his knee,_

_hei fara, his bow by his knee,_

_and shot the crow so that it fell down._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_Then he fastened before it his horses ten,_

_hei fara, his horses ten,_

_but the crow was too much for all of them._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_Then he fastened before it his horses twelve,_

_hei fara, his horses twelve,_

_and so pulled the crow onto the barn floor._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

_Then he flayed the crow and made of it glue,_

_hei fali og falaleia._

_It weighed between eighteen and twenty weight-pounds._

_From the hills it thunders, falaleia._

_The meat he salted and put on barrels,_

_hei fali og falaleia._

_And from the tongue he made yule-food._

_From the hills it thunders, falaleia._

_From the bowels he made twelve pairs of rope,_

_hei fali og falaleia._

_And the claws he uses for Yule food,_

_From the hills it thunders, falaleia._

_And the beak he uses as church-boat,_

_hei fali og falaleia,_

_so that people could sail both there and back._

_From the hills it thunders, falaleia._

_From the eyes he made window glass,_

_hei fali og falaleia._

_And the neck he placed on the church for decoration._

_From the hills it thunders, falaleia._

_And he who cannot make use of a crow like this,_

_hei fara, make use of like this,_

_he should not think to catch a crow such as this._

_Hei fara, falturil tural tura._

 

While the lady and gentlemen from the land of no music are visibly skeptical, the console gains more and more color, the black pillar swirling with threads of emerald-green light, getting steadily stronger and stronger. By the end of Loki’s song, it’s filled with it, and he says “Now, Thor.”

 

Thor lowers the gauntlet and the green light bursts outward, a hive of furious emerald wasps that begin forming a body, EUTERPE finding enough of a brain to begin a scan.

 

The multiple male singers sound like they are collectively attempting to summon Satan, despite the words proving to be relatively innocent.

 

_The raven slept in a rock-rift_

_On a cold winters night_

_There are many things that can hurt him_

_Many things that can hurt him_

_Before a beautiful day came_

_He pulls his frozen nose_

_From underneath a big rock_

_Underneath a big rock_

_Everything is frozen outside_

_You can't get anything at the beach_

_I'm so hungry_

_I'm so hungry_

_If I go to a house_

_The farmer’s dog fat-at-home forbids me_

_To pluck from the garbage_

_To pluck from the garbage_

_The earth is covered in ice_

_There is nowhere to set the table_

_Full-fledged birds can fly far._

_Full-fledged birds can fly far._

_But even though I look everywhere_

_There's just one color_

_What can a raven eat?_

_What can a raven eat?_

_Dead, lying on its side is_

_A fat mutton near a fence,_

_Who once was fast,_

_Once was fast._

_'Caw, caw! Ravens, come here!_

_Caw, caw! Ready for us is,_

_a feast on cold ice,_

_a feast on cold ice._ __

 

The emerald fireflies gather and form Laufeyson’s body, the chanting voices increasing until the god of mischief is mirrored before them. One with a blue right hand, and one dazed and stumbling, staring at the strange place around him with confusion.

 

Calmly, Loki hands the fiddle to Brunnhilde, grabs his otherworldly twin by the ear and slaps him soundly across the face, Odinson leaping up at his brother’s treatment, but clearly reluctant to attack someone that looks so much like his beloved sibling. “You will obey me,” Loki says tightly, his blue fingers still raised threateningly. “I know every thought that has ever tormented you, and if you think to trick _me_ , I will use each and every one of them against you.”

 

“Who…are you?” he replies, horrified.

 

“For now? Your worst nightmare.”

 

Impatiently, Stark says “GREAT! Can we now have the people we actually like back, please? Ow!”

 

Glaring, he turns to see who stepped on his foot, to meet Pepper’s eyes. She smiles with an impassive air, innocent and unintimidated. “Apologies, Mister Stark.”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Loki says, holding Laufeyson by the upper arm – he could barely stand up unaided. “It will take a great deal of power to do that. My counterpart needs to rest for the night – FRIDAY, please carry out the same tracking procedures you use on myself.”

 

“Shall I do that, Boss?” she asks Tony quietly.

 

“Yeah, go ahead.”

  
“Now tracking: Loki Friggason, and Loki, son of Odin and Frigga by way of Laufey,” she announces to the room. “All current residents are to be advised that the abrupt disappearance of either of these heat signatures or vital signs will cause the Tower to go into immediate lock-down without proper authorization.”

 

“Huh,” Stark mutters. “That’s actually…a pretty fucking good idea.”

 

Many of the people in the room retire for the night – Loki bodily drags Laufeyson to the room normally revised for them and the other Guardians, Thor and Brunnhilde in front of them and Odinson anxiously following behind, Rocket shuffling his feet at the rear.

 

May has to work in the morning, and Peter sheepishly admits that he’s not actually done with his homework.

\---

“Alright,” Romanov tells the rest of the team under her breath, staring out at the EUTERPE control console. “I think I’m starting to get what this is.”

 

“Please don’t leave us in suspense,” Barton responds dryly, getting a dirty look from Rogers and Banner.

 

“It appears,” Banner says carefully, glancing at Natasha. “That they seem to view this music, these songs, as their actual…souls.”

 

Jesus, even hearing it out loud sounds ridiculous, and they are all thinking it.

 

Behind them, a voice says “Yeah, of course they are.” Clint has resumed playing cards with Wanda, much more successfully than Steve, and he is also observing them, chin resting in his hand. “It ain’t a list of Billboard Hot 100’s, that’s for sure.”

 

“But why?” Banner persists. “Why do you have them?”

 

Wanda gives a quiet, exasperated sigh and says “Why do humans exist? Is there a high power? Are ghosts real? Is there life after death, like heaven? Or hell?” At their blank stares, she adds “You have basically asked _predok_ to answer an impossible existential question philosophers have debate since ancient time. We can’t tell you that because no one really knows – it simply is.”

 

“Then why are all of Natalia’s songs…” Barton isn’t sure how to finish that question, so simply allows it to trail off.

 

Clint leans back in his chair, still staring at them intently. Rogers never noticed it before now, but that was…massively unsettling. Perhaps because Barton had never done it to them so openly. “Let’s examine those: a song about emotional control and why you shouldn’t give a fuck, a cryptic song filled with symbolism about leaving, a love song asking for kindness, a song about returning back home after losing your way, a song about feeling isolated, and another love song – this one about pledging yourself to someone forever.”

 

“Yeah, so what is that supposed to me?”

 

Clint grins “Ask her”, he says, and points to Romanov. She stares back at him blankly, silent and seething.

\---

“Well, Stevie,” James says, staring at the instrument and its dull white surface. “I always said one day I’d buy you a fancy one.”

 

“You can play?” Natalia asks.

 

“Yeah, I can play. You didn’t buy it, it isn’t even ours,” Steven says, amused. “And I’m pretty sure it’s cursed.”

 

“It isn’t,” a voice behind them says, making them group of youngsters jump. The one-eyed man called Thor watches them with amused indulgence. “It is an ordinary instrument except in Loki’s hands now. If you wish to play it, though, I’d recommend using the ordinary strings.”

 

Natalia turns her doe eyes on Steven, blinking her long dark eyes at him, a soft and gentle smile on her face, pretty as a painted doll. “Would you play me something?”

 

Steven and James both stare at her in surprise, Steven with some disbelief, and James with some suspicion.

 

Girls don’t talk to Steven, girls often don’t even _notice_ Steven.

 

James has wondered many times if every girl in Brooklyn was born dumb or just blind. Cleverer girls who wanted James to take them on a date quickly realized that the best way to get in his good graces was treating Steven well – some more genuine than others. Some of the crueler and more cunning of this lot even feigned an interest in him once or twice, but while Steven may be half-deaf, he was not stupid, and both boys quickly grew wise to this tactic. Those who tried learned this was the fastest way to be stunned by James.

 

If this is not some terrible ploy, it might appear girls in Russia have both working eyes and a brain.

 

Having carefully restrung the bone fiddle, Steven asks Natalia “What song would you like to hear?”

 

The redheaded Russian answers in her soft, purring voice, never taking her gaze from Steven’s big blue eyes. “Play me anything. Whatever you like.”

 

Natalia – and the other members of the modern generation – does not understand that she has just unintentionally initiated a courting ritual that predates the ESM.

 

Because in Steven and James’ time, you could not initiate a joint song with someone, you could not sing with your soul. A couple stepping out together might choose instead to serenade one another, picking the melodies themselves. Asking him to sing and play for her in their world means that Natalia would like Steven to woo her. 

 

Steven swallows uncertainly, pretending to be absorbed in tuning the fiddle. She can’t-can’t really mean that, can she? She can’t really be interested in letting Steven court her? Natalia sits on the opposite sofa, tucked into a corner, the stiff navy blue fabric of her skirt bunched up in her lap as she patiently waits for him.

 

She looks like a doll – not in the slang sense, though that, too. Natalia looks like a porcelain dolly, the really nice kind, found in a department store. The kind Becca begged for and the Barnes’ could never afford. And whoever painted her was in a really good mood, she looks like a fairy-tale creature.

 

James…feels himself wanting to like her, even as his hackles rise. He wants Steven to have a pretty, smart dame who knows what a good man she’s got herself. But he feels responsible for Steven, too, and experience has taught him to mistrust ladies who eye him a bit too eagerly. She has SIX Echoes, for god’s sake.

 

Not…not that she has anything to be ashamed of. He knows some people who might call a girl like that loose, or slutty, but he thinks Steven, as usual, is probably right. It takes a big heart to love five people without leaving anyone behind.

 

But this girl is literally from a different time, and James doesn’t see how this can end well for either of them. Eventually, they must all return to their own world, and their own timelines.

 

Steven idly draws the bows across the strings a few times, thinking hard. He doesn’t want to be too forward, so he decides to play something a bit funny.

 

Chewing his lip, he begins the first few chords.

 

“ _As I was goin’ to the Fair of Dingle, one fine morning last July, while going down the road before me…a red-haired girl I chanced to spy_ ,” he sings quietly, blushing as he sneaks a glance at Natalia, whose mouth curves up as she watches him.

 

They gather more of a crowd for each line, the people laughing and eventually singing along with each line of the chorus:

 

_Keep your hands off red-haired Mary!_

_Her and I will soon be wed_

_We’ll see the priest this very morning_

_Tonight we’ll lie in a marriage bed!_

 

Through the song, the narrator – Steven – describes an amusing tale of being beaten up by every man in town, each of whom insist that they will be the one to wed redheaded Mary. Until Steven reaches the end, and he can’t seem to look away from Natalia, whose eyes are sparkling with her wide smile.

 

_The red-haired girl, she kept on smiling_

_"I’ll go with you, young man," she said_

_"We’ll forget the priest this very morning_

_And tonight, we’ll lie in Murphy’s shed!"_

 

The entire room howls with laughter as the room begins the chorus again. Natalia throws her head back and laughs and claps and sings with the rest of them.

 

James can’t understand why he feels so sick.

 

Perhaps it’s because she just looked at Steven the way he’s wanted to his whole miserable life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's Echo is "Kråkevisa", and I recommend the version by Arve Moen Bergset. Laufeyson's song is "Krummavísur" and doesn't really have an 'original' singer as it's a folk song
> 
> My kingdom to the lady, gentlemen, or nonbinary boss-ass bitch who can give me one of the two reasons Loki asked for Thor's blood and Brunnhilde's hair. (If you guess both reasons you can just take over the story, tbh)
> 
> Steven's song was "Red-Haired Mary" originally by Sean McCarthy (yes, I know it wasn't written yet, shut up you!), but I'm fond of the Clancy Brothers version :)


	5. yes sir, i can boogie part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My daughter is out here living her best life and I'm honestly just so proud of her right now.

It is late enough in the night that Bruce suggests it may be time to provide the rest of their unexpected guests with rooms. Odinson and Laufeyson have already been housed where the Guardians usually stay, but the others from their universe and their young guests needed a designated floor.

 

Clint volunteered to take “the kiddie-vengers”, and they made a group decision that Natasha was the best emissary to send as a guide for their hell-world counterparts. Bruce himself was going down to talk with Loki – he was certain his one-time teammate would at least be able to provide a _theory_ as to how these two different groups from two different worlds and multiple timelines had ended up here.

 

“I have spoken with my brother’s counterpart,” Loki says immediately, without the pleasantries of greetings. “He informed me that he had asked the gauntlet to restore their lost loved ones back to them. The ordinary humans have all returned nearly instantaneously – Wilson, the royal family of Wakanda, the Strange doctor…”

 

Slowly, Bruce says “But Bu-Barnes, Parker, Maximoff…the Guardians…they aren’t ordinary humans…”

 

Loki nods. “It’s my belief that the gauntlet sent them here because of Stark’s music machine. As I said before, it isn’t quite as technologically advanced as I would’ve had access to before Asgard was destroyed, but it will be serviceable.”

 

“So you’ll have to coax them out, just like…yourself?” Bruce asks, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

 

“Yes, something similar,” Loki admits, actually looking a bit ill at ease. “It will take more work but less effort. Laufeyson died a true death, and allowed his spirit to rest within the Tesseract. I suspect this is also the case for Gamora and Vision, but in a more natural manner. They have become a part of the Soul Stone and Mind Stone, I simply need to separate their spiritual selves those stones and allow their physical selves to reform.”

 

“That implies that the others won’t be so simple,” Bruce notes.

 

Loki grimaces in agreement. “I will need a person to be the catalyst for each of them. This is the other reason I have delayed bringing them back – I will need the Guardians to be here, and they cannot teleport here as Thor does.”

 

“Wait-wait, rewind. A catalyst?”

  
“Yes, Stark’s machine will help will this. It will be simple enough for me to reassemble their physical bodies, but they will each need a living person to…shepherd their spiritual selves back into the world. They aren’t like Gamora and the Vision – they are not part of the stones, they are trapped by them.”

 

“Is that what you meant? By less work and more effort?”

 

“I’m afraid so. With my counterpart to help me, this will be much less draining on me than bringing _him_ back was, but it will require a lot of the person who is chosen to lead them. This does mean that we’ll be able to return all of them to life in one night, but several of your teammates might be out of commission.”

 

“My teammates?” Bruce repeats, incredulously raising his eyebrows. “What do my teammates have to do with this?”

 

Loki – most tellingly – hesitates. “It is my belief that the people of your world are needed to be the shepherds. Their own people are filled with grief, and sadness, and anger, and I intensely doubt they would be capable of giving them the will to pass back into life. This is the other reason I suspect the gauntlet dropped them off here.”

 

He sighs. “I’ll tell Tony to keep the emergency response systems ready. Any ideas about how our other unwanted guests got here?”

 

“That would be wise, yes.” Loki pauses for several long moments as he contemplates that question. “I have two. The first is that it is a random and accidental glitch.”

 

Bruce grimaces. “I’m not sure I’m willing to buy that one.”

 

“No,” he agrees, “It doesn’t hold out, does it? The second is that it was a glitch, but not quite random – the six of you…have a particular hold on one another, in a three of the separate worlds. Thor believes…that the gauntlet had an unintended side effect on your young friends. All of your positions in the greater space between universes were _triangulated_ , you could say, with one another, and the power exerted by the gauntlet caused them to be pulled into this world.”

 

“An accident, but not random,” Bruce agrees heavily. “I thought so.”

\---

Natasha knows that this is going to be trying when the six of them pile into the elevator and Stark immediately tries to press the button for Floor 201. She swats his hand away from the panels. Falsely cheery, she says “That floor is off-limits to guests.”

 

Apparently (correctly) thinking that he never built that floor in his tower, Stark asks “What is it?”

 

“The private residence,” she says simply.

 

“Why are you still here?” he asks suspiciously.

 

Behind him, Rogers sighs, already anticipating Stark’s antagonistic comments.

 

“I live here,” she says, still pleasant. She’s forgotten how much of Tony’s time was spent actively trying to piss them off, checking for weaknesses to hide his own.

 

“But why?” He looks around at the sleek interior of the elevator. “Why do I even still own this building?”

 

 _Because_ , Natasha thinks and does not say, _the compound became a living symbol of the argument that separated us, and this city is where we belong._ “You’d have to ask Tony that. Why _don’t_ you own this building anymore?”

 

“The compound was more practical.” She wonders if the others hear that lingering note of uncertainty in his voice, or if she’s the only one who knows him well enough to identify it.

 

“Then I imagine Tony still owns the Tower because he found it more practical.” The elevator dings as they reach the correct floor.

 

Eyes narrowed at the number over the doorway, Romanov says “This was my floor.”

 

“Was it?” she asks innocently, without offering anything more.  

 

Barton waits until she leaves, staying silent until he can hear the machinery of the elevator activating. “She definitely lives on 201.”

 

Romanov hums, but does not offer a denial or any additional observations. Stark glances at the ceiling "FRIDAY, where does Natasha sleep?"

 

"She sleeps in her bed, Boss."

 

He narrows his eyes at that answer. JARVIS would've been able to deliberately evade his question, but not FRIDAY. "Where is her bed, then?"

 

"In her room."

 

Romanov huffs impatiently. "Who does she sleep with?"

 

Stark says "She won't-"

  
"It isn't my place to give out private information on tower residence, Ms. Romanov." 

 

He nods, making an 'I told you so' gesture. "Yeah, she's been programmed to deny personal information like that. Who lives here, in the tower? Permanently, I mean?"

 

"Doctor Banner, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Barton, Mr. Hogan, Miss Maximoff, Mr. Parker, Mrs. Parker, Ms. Potts, Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, and Mr. Stark are all residence of Avengers Tower. Mr. Quill keeps a postal box in the lobby as his permanent address, but he does not live here on a permanent basis." 

 

"Quill? My lobby? Why?" he asks, bewildered.

 

"I believe he keeps in written contact with his grandfather and his aunts." 

 

They weren't aware that Quill _had_ a grandfather and aunts.

 

Banner suddenly says, “Look at this.”

 

Someone has started their own YouTube channel – "Only When You Live With the Avengers", #OnlyinAT for short – that is entirely centered around living in the Tower. The channel intro video shows an unfamiliar table with Bucky, Clint, Bruce, Pepper, and Wanda calmly chewing their cereal. Pepper is the only one fully dressed and ready for work – Wanda and Bruce are both still in pajamas and Clint and Bucky don’t even have shirts on.

 

Glass shatters as something – a drone? A bomb? – flies through the window. Bruce calmly continues to set the table as Clint catches the device mid-air and throws it straight at Bucky, who catches it with the left hand and crushes the weapon in his metal fist like a cheap toy.

 

Wanda is left gaping at the adults in the room.

 

No one had paused any of their activities. Bucky was still chewing on his toast – Clint hadn’t dropped his spoon. Pepper hadn’t even bothered looking away from the novel she was reading. “Eat your eggs, dear,” she tells her without looking up, turning the page. “They’ll get cold fast.”

 

She stares at Bruce, blinking rapidly. He gives her a bland smile. “Orange juice?”

 

There are a ton of them, from funny hijinks to just cute things: a video of Steve and Bucky wrestling intensely over the last pizza (aptly named ‘ _Two Hot Dads_ ’). Wanda using her powers to recreate the Winona Ryder dance ending of Beetlejuice. Bucky brushing and braiding Wanda’s hair, who does Valkyrie’s hair, who does Loki’s while he hurls icicles for the Hulk to smash. A montage of clips all about Clint getting excited by random dogs he meets and stopping to pet them. A hilarious video of Scott attempting to operate Rhodey’s suit without previous training that is genuinely funny, but the best part is Natasha, who goes from watching without expression to laughing so hard she falls out of a chair in under five seconds.

 

‘ _Yeet or Be Yeeted_ ’ is a twenty second clip of Spider-Man – Peter – _playing_ with Iron Man (it can’t be described any other way, he seems to be using Iron Man like a jungle gym) several hundred feet in the air, when Peter accidentally pushes off from the suit a little too firmly and nearly throws Tony through the R  & D floors of the tower.

 

The most recent video was just last night – ‘ _No Powers, No Problem_ ’.

 

Clint and Tony are playing chicken in the rooftop pool with Wanda and Pepper on their shoulders. Even more astonishing – Wanda is Tony’s partner, and Pepper is Clint’s. She and Clint win when Pepper abruptly uses her foot to tickle Tony under the arm and he falls backwards into the pool with a shout of surprised laughter, Wanda shrieking as she falls in with him. The video ends with Clint and Pepper standing victorious in the middle of the pool, managing to bow while he is still carrying her without tipping each other over.

 

The channel has nearly _ten million_ subscribers and there is apparently a running bet on who actually started it. (It was technically FRIDAY, but Wanda and Peter are the ones who acquire the videos from her monitoring feed and post them.)

 

“This is nauseating,” Stark says sourly and Romanov grunts in agreement.

 

Rogers’ stomach twists. It actually looks really nice, to him. They’re all so _happy_ , so close to each other. How is it fair, how is it right that they get to live this way and his team lost half the people they love?

\---

James is worried about Steven when Clint leads the six of them back to the guest floor. He seems restless and twitchy. He was probably a little unsettled by all the attention, but James was glad that these people seemed to see the person he saw. (He felt something less gracious, too, but he would hold his tongue on that.)

 

“This is the common room,” Clint was saying, “You can kind of hang out here, relax, talk to each other – the kitchen is through there and so is Natalia’s room. No boys allowed, though. Your rooms are all down that hallway, and so are the bathrooms. Eat whenever you like – if you don’t have the ingredients for whatever you want to make, just ask FRIDAY to get it for you.”

 

“The voice in the ceiling?” his younger counterpart asked.

 

“Yep, she’s the Tower’s Artificial Intelligence. So just say something like, Hey FRIDAY?”

 

“Yes, Agent Barton?” the Irish AI prompts.

 

“Can you order some more of that fancy-ass tea Bruce and Wanda like? And Tony’s special coffee?”

 

“Yes, I can,” she purrs.

 

“Have it sent up to this floor, please. Ready for tomorrow morning.”

 

“Will do, Agent Barton. Would you like the fresh orange juice served at breakfast on Floor 201 sent here as well?”

 

“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”

 

“My pleasure,” FRIDAY says warmly, before going silent again.

 

“She can get you whatever you want, in just a few hours or just a few minutes depending on how difficult the request is.”

 

Anthony waits until Clint is out of earshot before speaking to Natalia in low tones. “I guess I don’t have to ask which one you’ve set your set sights on,” he mutters in her ear as they wander around the common room of the guest floor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, though?”

 

“I am certain that he will control himself if I tell him he may not…” Natalia seems uncertain about the manner she intends to finish that sentence. She makes a gesture that she allows him to interpret on his own.

 

“…put his dick in you?” Anthony guesses.

 

She makes a face, but nods. “I do not believe that the others would ah, assault me, in the manner that J- _Bucky_ fears, but I believe that Steven will be the easiest for me to seduce and the least likely to get…carried away.”

 

“Yeah, but he and James are the most likely to be bothered by the idea of me watching you getting down and dirty,” he reminds her. “I promised not to let you alone with them and frankly, watching that would basically be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”  

 

She shrugs. “Obviously it’s possible to convince them, Bucky implied that he and the other men will engage in sexual activity freely with each other.”

 

“Hell yes I would,” Anthony says fiercely, trying to keep his voice lowered despite his excitement. “I fucking have eyes.”

 

Natalia gives him an amused glance. “I’m simply saying that there is a way to talk them over and out of their initial misgivings.” She smiles, looking at him through her lashes, green eyes scanning Anthony’s dark messy hair and melting chocolate-brown eyes. “I have faith you can do it.”

 

“Better not go there,” he warns huskily, though he leans toward her slightly. “Not if you’d like to hook your fingers into your pretty Irish boy tonight.”

 

Natalia smiles more guilelessly. “Don’t forget, he’s _your_ pretty Irish boy, too. It couldn’t hurt to get him…warmed up to you.”

 

“I really do like the way you think.”

 

“Yes, now we just have to find them.”

 

“Where the hell…?”

\---

“We should pick out a room,” Steven tells him, fidgeting a little. Clothes in the future are odd. They fit better, he doesn’t have to wear Bucky’s mended cast-offs now, but everything feels…tighter. He isn’t sure he likes it.

 

James seems a bit distracted, won’t quite look at him. “Yeah, alright. Jeez, this place looks like it should belong to a Rockefeller.”

 

“Yeah,” Steven smirks and shakes his head. “Guess we know Stark does pretty well for himself.”

 

 _I’ll say, look at that pretty son of his_ , James thinks but definitely does not say. _He must get his charm and his big doe eyes from his mama, because Howard was never that much of a looker_.

 

Jesus, he’s had inappropriate thoughts about men before, but it’s worse here in the future. He isn’t sure if it’s because he knows that it’s legal here or what, but he can’t seem to stop it. Before, he could tell himself it was just Stevie, that if he was a deviant, at least he was a loyal deviant.

 

But god…

 

Anthony has this wicked smile and such tight pants they look panted on to his pert little ass, Robert has dark eyes with long lashes prettier than any dame’s, and the way Clint looks at him, like he knew what was under James’ clothes and exactly what he wanted to do about it…

 

“Let’s take this one,” he says hastily, pointing toward a halfway open door. He feels Steven’s hand on his arm. He turns…

 

“Buck.”

 

…and finds his mouth meeting Steven’s, quick and feverish, his muscle memory taking over before he realizes what’s happening, and then…

 

…and then he wants more, more…

 

…pressing that narrow, bold little form into the wall, plunging his tongue into Steven’s mouth as his friend makes a shocked, startled noise, fingers dragging against James’ shirtsleeves…

 

James pulls away breathing like he’d just finished climbing all the stairs to their walk-up at a run.

 

Dazed, Steven stares at him, mouth beautifully, deliciously swollen, looking up at James’ horrified and confused expression. Swallows. Well, he supposes that he has his answer there. “I had to know…”

 

“Know what?” James asks hoarsely.

 

“What it was like…to kiss you…” Steven breathes, panting almost as fast as he is.

 

James makes an odd sound, not a moan and not quite a growl, shoving Steven back against the wall and holding him still by the hair so that he can explore every inch of his mouth. Steven’s fingers go back to clawing at his sleeves – not trying to get away from him, as James originally thought. Trying to pull him closer. Breaking apart abruptly, he pants “What about your _red-haired Mary_?”

 

Guilt flashes across Steven’s face.

 

“She really doesn’t mind.”

 

They both whirl around to see Natalia and Anthony standing there, watching them with clear interest. Anthony has his chin resting on Natalia’s shoulder, his arms around her. “This may be easier than we originally thought,” he murmurs in her ear. “Don’t stop on our account.”

 

“By all means,” Natalia agrees, subtly rubbing her ass against the bulge in Anthony’s pants. She should control herself, it can’t be healthy to indulge this, can’t be normal to want them this much and this badly, but every reason she shouldn’t is across the world and literal decades away from her.

 

She grows less subtle, angling her hips so that she can feel the length of his cock rubbing over her slit. James and Steven both glance downwards, eyes large and hungry as the sensation makes her shudder. Anthony smiles at them from over her shoulder, gently tracing the waistband of her skirt. “Do you want to touch her?” Dropping his eyelashes and squeezing himself through the denim of his jeans. “Or maybe you want to touch me?”

 

“Um,” Steven says eloquently, eyes drifting from Natalia and the front of her blouse, her nipples visibly straining against the fabric, and Anthony, his hands casually possessive on her body, shamelessly fondling himself. It was clear that he and James didn’t actually know how to answer that.

 

“Shh,” Natalia suddenly, growing still. She pushes on the half-open door to the room beside them.

 

All four of them gape.

 

“Slower,” Robert whimpers through passionate kisses, Clinton half-lifting him onto the dresser. “Just a little, p-please, just… _slower_.”

 

To their surprise, Clinton stops trying to yank his clothes off, but slides his hands down the back of his sweatpants, cupping Robert’s bare ass. His mouth slows down to a syrupy, clinging tempo, and he brings their crotches together at a luxurious pace. Robert’s hands drift up to curl at the wild dirty blonde hair at the back of Clinton’s head, twining gently through the strands until he breaks off the kiss with a soft, heartfelt whisper of “ _Fuck_ ” that makes the other five people in the room feel like they’re about to explode.

 

Growling, Clinton licks up Robert’s throat and underneath of his jaw, Robert’s head tilting back farther and farther. “Slow enough?” he whispers, shockingly tender, gently biting at his chin.

 

“Yeah,” Robert whispers hoarsely. Opening his eyes to look at them, he says “We don’t sell tickets.”

 

Clinton looks over his shoulder and snorts. Gruffly, he says “Take off your pants and show me your dick or get the fuck out. This ain’t a spectator’s sport.”

 

Anthony gives Natalia an excited look, mouthing “Best day ever!” at her as he quickly snaps his belt through the loops. She smiles and rolls her eyes at his eagerness. James and Steven seem frozen in place, shocked at what Clinton has just suggested they are going to do and also at the blatant display he and Robert have put on.

 

Natalia beckons Steven, crooking a finger at him with a slow smile.

 

When he still looks uncertain, Anthony makes an impatient noise and grabs Steven’s wrist, coaxing with his lips and tongue until he opens for him and then pulling away to kiss Natalia, too. Then, just because he feels like it, grabbing James and sucking with exaggerated slowness on his tongue. James groans and grabs him by the arms, his heightened senses now able to pick up on the taste of Natalia and Steven in his mouth before he pulls back. Clinton laughs at this and drags Anthony toward him, their joined laughter as they kiss one of the oddly sexiest things the others have ever seen. When they separate he meets Robert’s eyes and taps his swollen lips, eyes glittering with mischief, flushed and excited by all the attention.

 

Somewhere is the voice saying that Robert should hesitate, should avoid diving in. But they are all here already, and the voice sounds like his father, so he doesn’t listen to it. Gently, he presses his mouth to Anthony’s, who gives a soft sigh and tilts his head, encouraging Robert to take more without demanding that he do so. Emboldened, Robert holds his head and fucks his tongue into Anthony’s mouth in lazy, thorough strokes and when he breaks off for air, Anthony rubs a shaky hand over his jaw and stares at Robert. “Oh _hell_.”

\---

“You- I-” Steven can’t seem to start or finish a sentence properly. His brain is too overwhelmed by everything he’s experienced in the last ten minutes. In the last twelve hours.

 

As the best pal of someone who was widely considered to be the best looking man in Brooklyn, Steven has seen some good looking dames before. Maybe he didn’t know a whole lot about sex or kissing, especially when compared to the freer men of the future, but he’s seen his share of beautiful women in his life.

 

Natalia could leave them all in the dust without even batting an eyelash.

 

With Natalia’s deeply scarlet hair, gently rolling accent and sly smile, Steven nearly wonders if she were a witch or a faerie queen, like in Ma’s stories from the old country. Looking into her bewitching green eyes, it was almost easier to believe that than believing she was an ordinary flesh-and-blood human girl. But as she backed him up against bed and pressed her knees into the mattress to settle over his lap, there was no denying that she was made of flesh.

 

He’s a small fella, and he knows that, even if he doesn’t like it much. But Natalia, only an inch shorter than he is, actually feels like a good fit for him, a good height to kiss and hold in his arms.

 

Despite Clinton’s comments regarding this not being a spectator’s sport, none of them continue with their activities, too engrossed by Steven’s stunned expression as Natalia opens up the fly of his jeans and settles herself over the pleasingly thick lump in his underwear, moaning loudly at the first feeling of him pulsing against her.

 

“Oh, yes,” she sighs against his mouth, her delicate fingers running through his straw colored hair. He is treated to the sight of her glorious breasts heaving right in front of his face, her body quivering over his. He can feel her, hot and wet over his cock and by instinct, he grabs her, fingers digging in and thrusts up into the patch of slick nylon still covering her.

 

The other men grab themselves, feeling a sudden need to relieve the pressure in their pants as Steven makes a sound they all simultaneously vow they will find a way to hear again, a groaning, growling thing unleashed from deep in his chest. She trembles and groans, feeling those slender fingers dig into her, one at her thigh and the other at her ass, Steven bucking against the slick heat of her pussy.

 

If the Archer was playful, and the Soldier calculated, Steven is cruel and raw, without any thought but in keeping her want he wants her to be. She shouldn’t love it, but she does, the points of pain making the pleasure of his cock pulsing beneath her more pronounced. It...she thinks it helps that somewhere inside her, she knows that she could stop him if she really wanted to. Natalia rubs herself against him, shameless as an alley cat in heat and mewling like one, rocking her throbbing pussy on his dick and her aching nipples against his chest.

 

“ _Oh, yes_ ,” she moans to him in Russian, riding his lap eagerly. “ _Yes, this is how you will take me, when the time comes. You will play your true song to me, and have me just like this, as you were meant to…”_

 

“What are you sa-saying?” he whispers, seemingly unaware of how cruelly he holds her in his lap.

 

“I-I am… _imagining_ …your cock…inside me…” she says, as honestly as she can, whimpering into his mouth as Steven kisses her harshly, his tongue initiating a brutal enactment of the event she longs for. “Yes, yes, oh…!”

 

Steven says a short sentence that is entirely composed of Gaelic curses, his heart skipping multiple beats, fingers tearing into her stockings as he brings her as close to him as any two people can be and still have their clothes on. His cock, springing free of his underwear, rubs over the slippery fabric covering her crotch. It’s sweet, delicious torture for him. Natalia whimpers and cries against his neck, her breath humid against his skin, pleading to him half in Russian and half in English. The silk of her stockings is sheer enough to feel her heat and the thick frothy slick soaking her folds as her pussy clenches around the empty space she longs for his cock to be in – and he loses control of himself over that feeling.

 

Natalia cries out breathlessly, her accent thickening, one of her hands buried in his silky golden hair as she feels him coming beneath her. “ _Bozhe moy_ \- my _god_ , I can feel your heart beating within it! Steven…!”

 

Her thighs tremble violently around his hips, Natalia’s head tipping back as she comes with several low, throaty sighs. She relaxes her weight into him, feeling the semen painted onto her stockings smearing all over her crotch. It’s filthy, and in some way, satisfying.

 

He kisses her ear with an endearing delicacy, the hands that held her in such a brutal manner supporting her back with a tenderness that rubs her soul raw. “…was that okay?”

 

He is perfect, in his way.

 

Each faucet she sees helps her to believe that they will all be perfect, in their own ways, giving her pieces of themselves she never even knew she needed. From Anthony, laughter, and the ease and space to explore her newly given freedom. From Steven, pain that was meant to give her pleasure rather than as only punishment.

 

She kisses him slowly, softly, with all the care she cannot yet name, her accent still heavy with passion. “It was perfect, _l'venok_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L'venok means 'lion cub' or 'little lion', probably Natalia thinking of his blond hair and the way he sank his claws into her.


	6. yes sir, i can boogie part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every-body-is-horn-y!

“Do you trust me?” Clinton murmurs, fingers gently tracing over the muscles in Robert’s buttocks.

 

It was not a matter of trust, really. Robert doesn’t remember what that’s like, he doesn’t have trust even in himself. It became more a question of how much he wanted this then, which is why he doesn’t hesitate to meet Clinton’s gaze and says “Yes.”

 

The sight of Clinton stripping off his belt makes Robert’s insides churn unpleasantly, but he works to keep that from showing on his face as Clinton pulls something from his pants pockets and discards his jeans and socks into a corner. Steven and Natalia are still near the head of the bed, so he lays Robert at the foot and straddles his hips, unabashedly naked even as Robert still has on his pajama bottoms.

 

“Ain’t got any condoms,” he admits, showing him the object in his hand. A sachet of lube. “That’s the part where trusting me comes in. We can do something else, ‘cuz I’m clean but I don’t have any papers to prove it, so I wanted you to know up front, you won’t be getting a rubber.”

 

Confused, higher up on the bed, Steven says “Why do you need that? Men can’t get pregnant now, can they?”

 

James was actually wondering the same thing.

 

Clinton, Robert, and Anthony all burst out laughing. “No,” Clinton says, wiping his eyes. “We can’t. But you can get diseases, and some of them don’t have a cure. I don’t got one, but I can’t provide evidence to guarantee it, either.”

 

Calmly, Robert says “When was the last time you’ve had sex?”

 

“Five days ago,” he says promptly.

 

“Unprotected sex?”

 

“Last year.”

 

“Acceptable risk,” Robert says hoarsely. What he does not say out loud is that it hardly even matters – if one among them has an STD, it’s only a matter of time before _all_ of them do.

 

“Good,” Clinton husks. “I wanna make this real good for you.”

 

Though never having experienced anal sex – much less any other kind – Robert feels his spine and lower back tingle at that. He watches with anticipation as Clinton coats his fingers with a good amount of lube, then quickly realizes he may have made some inaccurate assumptions. Clinton hisses at the discomfort that comes with the burn of the first stretch as he breaches his body with a single finger.

 

“I thought…” Robert steadies him with a hold on his deliciously muscular thighs, swallowing dryly.

 

Clinton flashes him a quick smile. “Bottoming is for the second date.”

 

Unable to put a stopper on his sass, Robert responds “I wasn’t aware we had a first.”

 

“We talked, we had dinner, we’re getting naked, then we’ll play risky business,” Clinton says cheekily, choking on laughter and the sting of a second finger. “What more do you want?”

 

Robert is very pleased with the way his partner huffs and moans as he gently traces his fingers up his cock. “Foreplay?” he whispers, watching Clinton’s eyes roll back, between his own fingers and Robert’s teasing. “I should be doing that for you.”

 

“Ain’t – _uh_ – ain’t patient enough, sweet thing,” Clinton groans. With a surprisingly soft kiss, he murmurs “Next time.”

 

Robert doesn’t ask “ _Next time_?” or “ _Will you let me take care of you then_?”. Instead, he runs his tongue lightly against his, hesitantly reaching up to cup Clinton’s full, round buttocks and giving him a heartfelt squeeze. “You’re-” he starts, then chokes back a moan. “-bit more handsy than I was expecting.”

 

“Complaint?” Robert asks, innocent and mild as ever, kneading and massaging to relax all the muscles there.

 

Lashes fluttering in a very tempting manner, Clinton murmurs “Not at all.” Shifting on his knees so that he can reposition himself over his lap, he gives Robert’s cock a generous stroke to coat the shaft with lube. The brief pop past the first ring of muscle makes him give a low “ _Ffffffuck_.”

 

The grip of Clinton’s body around his cock makes Robert’s vision blur. From beside him, he hears Steven whisper, more enthralled than horrified, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

 

“God, _no_ ,” Clinton slurs, spreading his knees wide to show the twitching cock between his legs. “Do I look hurt?”

 

Steven swallows. He isn’t sure which side of this ignites his curiosity more, the idea of fucking another man – fucking one of _these_ men – or of them fucking him. He glances over at James and then quickly glances away, unable to handle seeing such a look on his friend’s face. He’s seen his best friend randy before, of course, he’s seen him horny and shit-faced and frustrated with his blue balls. But this is more than that. James looks _hungry_ , staring at Robert and Clinton with dilated eyes, his head tilted toward Anthony as he murmurs in his ear.

 

“You can do that to me, you know,” Anthony says next to his ear.

 

Hoarsely, James says “Ain’t got any slick and I’m not…not Robert’s size.”

 

Licking his lips, Anthony gives him an up and down glance. “I can see that.” He realizes that James is now staring, stricken and mesmerized at his mouth. “ _Oh_.”

 

Yeah, he can definitely work with this.

 

Clinton stares at Steve, sloe-eyed and sly as a devil, and grins. _Uh-oh._

 

Leaning toward him, Clinton looks into Steve’s pretty china-blue eyes and whispers “It feels like this.”

 

Then he slips his tongue into his mouth, carefully holding onto his jaw as he slides along Steven’s tongue. With a low whine, they are separated, and Steven is left gazing at him with a strange wonder.

 

Clinton’s head is hung in a boneless loll as he rolls his hips in little circles, just until- “Oh, yes, yes, fuck!”

 

He’s unabashed, shameless as he sobs and chases that pleasure, trying to repeat the phenomenon of discovery over and over again, fingers dragging a subconscious path down his own chest. Frowning at the welts blooming over Clinton’s abs and pecs, Robert catches his hands, laces their fingers together and bucks into him, matching a rhythm that starts a quiet, continuous moaning from his partner. Their eyes lock, the intimacy of the moment catching them both blind.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Robert whispers, staring at Clinton’s face, flushed and soaked with sweat.

 

Clinton gives a little hiccuping, startled laugh and says, “Darlin’, you need to touch me or I’m gonna lose it over here.”

 

Robert holds his hand firmly against his sternum before releasing his fingers and stroking his cock in the same rhythm, his whole body throbbing with the ragged anguished cries that come from Clinton’s mouth. “Gonna be…over…fast…” Robert warns, panting with the effort of holding back. “…really fast.”

 

Clinton shakes his head frantically, slurring “Dun’ care, dun’ care, dun’ care.”

 

Then he tenses, wetness seeping over Robert’s fingers and belly, gaze locked with his, wide open and shocked. Their murky green color fills his vision as he finally releases the hold he had on himself and with a wounded moan, comes inside him.

 

“Jesus,” Clinton breathes, Robert still semi-hard inside his ass, braced over him on the bed and panting hard. Leaning down farther, he gives Robert a series of messy, broken kisses, letting his cock slip out of his body. Robert still has a hold round his hips, protective and close. There are spots on his hips that will be tender from his grip.

 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” James echoes, staring with an almost unhealthy fascination at the perfect view he has of the fresh semen slowly seeping from Clinton’s ass.

 

Anthony tries to keep his grin non-demonic. _Greatest day ever_.

 

Giggling, Clinton whispers “You fuck me like I’m your personal sex doll.” Robert gives him a horrified and apologetic stare, and he giggles again. “I never said that I hated it, baby.”

\---

James gives a loud yelp as Anthony pushes him down to the bed, managing to make him land in the tight space between Steven and Natalia at the headboard and Robert and Clinton at the foot. Perched on his thighs, Anthony strokes down his chest, breathing his confession “I’ve wanted this…I’ve _always_ wanted this…”

 

“Wanted…?” James chokes, confused.

 

“You’ve always wanted an orgy?” Robert asks, amused, stroking Clinton’s hair in post-coital languor.

 

“To be on my knees,” Anthony murmurs “For Bucky Barnes and Captain America.”

 

Steven and James’ perplexed and simultaneous “Wha-?” is lost to the ages, Anthony pulling off his belt and throwing it carelessly to the floor as he really does drop to his knees on the carpet, hovering over his lap at the edge of the bed. The fly of James’ pants gaps open to reveal the bulge in his underwear and Anthony says, awed, “Oh my god, it’s Christmas!”

 

Before James can ask what the fuck _that_ means, Anthony presses his cheek to his briefs, moaning as he rubs his face over the fabric, the cock beneath throbbing with excitement at his touch and his voice. James puts his hands over his eyes because if he has to watch Anthony’s sweet doe eyes looking up at him with his dick anywhere near his mouth, he’s going to embarrass himself.

 

As it is, he can’t stop himself from talking while Anthony is down there nuzzling and breathing humid air over his shorts. “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

 

Wetness seeps through the cotton fabric as Anthony sucks and kisses him and James whimpers. The first touch of his lips on bare skin makes a series of grunts and moans come from James’ mouth that has Anthony frantically reaching between his own legs to squeeze his cock and relieve some of the pressure.

 

“Baby, oh baby, you have such a sweet mouth…” His constant babbling doesn’t help him at all, either. God, how is he supposed to get anything done with James saying things like this? “So soft, darling…feels so fucking good…”

 

Groaning, Anthony’s mouth slides farther down his shaft, pulsing against his tongue with each frantic beat of his heart. This is so, so much better than any of his fantasies. James has the biggest dick he’s ever encountered, the weight resting hot and heavy in his mouth, and he tries to take more and more of him, gently gagging himself and backing off every few moments. Above him, James moves his hands restlessly before finally settling in Anthony’s dark hair, petting and stroking him like a favorite cat.

 

Cursing and sobbing, James rakes his fingers through his partner’s hair, caressing his neck and shoulders as his throat closes around him, Anthony making a quiet choking sound. It sends a wave of pleasure down his spine so acute it makes James feel almost nauseous, hissing “ _Sonovabitch_ …!” before pulling Anthony off him. Another sickeningly sharp wave of arousal hits him at the sight of his tear-streaked face and abused lips. “C’mere, darling.”

 

The older Bucky or Steve could’ve warned him that overexposure to sex-pheromones (especially from these people) would drive James absolutely berserk, but they also weren’t expecting the six of them to be immediately all over each other. Bucky had accurately described the scent as ‘I want your dick’, but James distinctly smelled something else.

 

‘I taste delicious!’.

 

Anthony yelps as James exerts a sudden – mind-blowingly hot – force on him and abruptly yanks Anthony onto to his lap, picking him up with ease and hauling his weight onto the bed. “Why-?”

 

His question is cut off as James rolls him down onto the bed and shoves his jeans down his thighs. James has zero experience in orally servicing a male partner, but nothing about his current state of mind is bothered by this. It doesn’t occur to him to be deterred by this, since Anthony smells like sex dipped in champagne and chocolate.

 

Anthony squeaks with surprise as James licks at his cock, sucks at his balls, and bites beautiful marks into both of his inner thighs. While it’s obvious that James has never done this before, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with diving right in, because the good Sergeant sucks his dick like Anthony is made of candy.

 

“Holyyyyy shiiiiiiiiit,” he gasps, thrashing futilely in the iron-strong grip he has on his hips. Then James does something he wouldn’t have guessed he would do in a hundred years and a loud cry tears through his vocal chords. “Ohmygodyesplease!”

 

James hisses, animalistic and wild, forcing his hips down to the bed and he licks even more firmly at the tight, delicate skin of his asshole.

 

“God _damn_ ,” Clinton breathes, impressed. He didn’t think the uptight old school choir boys had it in them, but Steven handled Natalia almost like a seasoned Dom and James was kinky enough to lick ass – and not just _do it_ , but apparently really, _really_ get into it. Anthony was right – Christmastime is here again!

 

James has also apparently decided that he isn’t satisfied until Anthony is completely at his mercy. Grunting, he pushes him behind the knees, folding him in half and giving James unlimited access to anything he wants. What he wants is…everything, it turns out.

 

Anthony smells like sex and soap and skin and…and _home_. James can’t get enough, he wants to taste everything. And the sounds he makes sure don’t hurt, either. _Jesus wept_ , the boy was filthy and James wanted to make him filthier.

 

“F-f-f-f-fuck,” Anthony cries, hyperventilating. He tries to squirm – toward, away from, he has no idea – and realizes that he can’t. Physically cannot move anywhere. James has him pinned so thoroughly that he’s essentially helpless.

 

 _Oh, hello all the kinks I didn’t know I have_ , he thinks, somewhat hysterically. _Please come in, make yourselves at home_.

 

“Oh my god.” James coaxes his body to open for him – he has almost no technique and more raw desire than any partner he’s ever had. Everything in his pelvis aches and his cock gives a sudden warning throb. He’s never denied being crazy, but he might actually be losing his mind right now. Anthony’s head slams back into the pillows as James’ tongue fucks him open ruthlessly, stoking the fire that’s been in him the whole night. Anthony wails, “I’m gonna come, oh god, I’m gonna come!”

 

Growling, James presses him down to the bed and works his tongue, frantic and greedy, until Anthony lets out another one of those needy wails and completely falls apart. He twitches violently, jizz striping up his belly in milky streaks. Without much conscious thought, James licks that up, too, until he can’t bear the agony of his erection any longer.

 

He can’t breathe, he can barely think – his vision is blurry and the only sound he can hear is his blood pounding through his ears. Until…

 

Anthony’s blunt fingernails bite into his sides as he coaxes James down to meet his mouth. “C’mon, honey,” he whispers, still panting with the aftershocks, using a hidden tenderness to stroke James’ hair and neck. “Finish yourself off – right here, all over me.”

 

With a soft expletive, James buries his face in Anthony’s shoulder, mindlessly kissing him as his cock spills all over his lap and chest. Anthony hides his smile within his hair. James slurs “You’re a fuckin’ dish, you know that?”  

\---

“You can take it off, you know.”

 

Bucky twitches, so Bruce knows that he heard him, but he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge that he spoke. He’s been a bit fidgety lately – he may have attributed it to the day’s events, but he’s noticed it in the past week, not just today. He finally made the connection when Bucky made several aborted motions to rub his left shoulder.

 

Tony twists round to stare at him. “Hell yeah, I’m all for taking it off.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “Not clothes, Tony. Bucky’s arm is bothering him.”

 

“No it ain’t,” Bucky says, with such an air of anxiousness, they both know it’s a lie.

 

Both Clint and Tony stare at him. “Why don’t you just take it off?”

 

“He thinks we’re gonna freak out about the lack of arm,” Natasha says from custom vanity Clint built her – it was the only piece of furniture she insisted on taking from her suite of rooms and it had more drawers for knives than makeup. Currently, Tony is painting her toenails with such ferocious precision, Natasha is nearly impressed.

 

Steve sighs “Buck…” and she adds “I have no idea why, James. It’s not exactly a surprise.”

 

Rather harshly, he says “Knowing and actually _seeing_ it are very different things.”

 

It was not a pretty sight – it wouldn’t have been pretty no matter what, but HYDRA, as in most areas, made it worse. Shuri informed him that the bone near the shoulder hadn’t just been broken off during the fall, it had been _shaved_ away and left to heal before their appliance was attached. Because they were more suited to medical torture and research than actual healing, they were more interested in making a weapon, a machine, than in letting him regain normal function. Consequently, it was not a comfortable thing.

 

The weight had required steel rods to be implanted in Bucky’s collar and shoulder, since even his enhanced body couldn’t bear the strain of their crude creation with the force and pressure it was designed to ouput. Shuri had removed them all with extreme prejudice, vowing that any prosthetic she created for him wouldn’t require such barbaric methods and he wouldn’t lose any strength.

 

“Maybe for the Winter Soldier, he was the arm.” Clint shrugs, half-hanging off the bed. “But you’re not the arm, man, even if sometimes the arm is you. And that means you’re still gonna be you without it.”

 

Bucky gapes, stunned by that succinct bit of advice, and Natasha leans over to kiss Clint below the ear. “That was very wise.”

 

Hanging his head, Bucky murmurs “Steve. Gonna need some help.”

 

Immediately, Steve is there, fingers catching the exact spot at the juncture of his armpit to lift the right plate, popping open the panel that would allow him to turn off the appliance’s nerve conduction and release its magnetic attachment. Steve is also there to help him stay standing and correct his balance when his whole body suddenly and alarmingly tilts to the right.

 

His beard tickles the back of Bucky’s neck as Steve breathes against his skin. “I’ve got you, pal.”

 

Gently, Natasha sets the discard prosthetic on the vanity beside her and gives Clint her best bedroom eyes. And Natasha’s best is…woo boy. “I think I promised to make it up to you, didn’t I?”

 

“Oh, don’t feel obligated,” Clint responds, with such a sly grin that she bites his lower lip.

 

Tony reaches up with a confidence he does not feel, seeing Bucky visibly flinch in Steve’s arms as he touches the vulnerable emptiness of the stump that remains of his left arm, gently cupping and then massaging along his shoulder blades. In an oddly fragile tone, he says “Feel better, Bucko?”

 

Bucky hides his face in Tony’s collar, giving a tiny nod. He doesn’t feel able to speak at the moment, Tony at his front and Steve behind him. Shudders as he feels their lips on his skin. This wasn’t the life he expected, or even the life he wanted when he was growing up.

 

But it was good. They were good.

 

Bruce often preferred to sit out the sex portion of their evenings – he didn’t necessarily dislike it, but it was never a priority for him, and he didn’t actually have the Hulk’s stamina. He’d long been more accustomed to solitude whether he enjoyed it or not. He liked having his mates near him very much and for Bruce, that didn’t mean he needed to be actively participating with the current festivities.

 

Okay, so maybe laying half-asleep next to three people fucking while another couple made love sort-of on top of him would be weird to most people.

 

Luckily, they were not most people.

 

Natasha pants quietly into Bruce’s chest, her arms curved around him. A soft whine catches in her throat occasionally, whenever Clint gets in a particularly deep thrust, and the sounds are muffled with his skin. Beside them, Bucky seems to have decided one dick is never enough for the night and is practically crying as Steve and Tony work on a rhythm together.

 

Some distant part of Bruce’s brain acknowledges that this should be really creepy. That a normal person wouldn’t be okay with drifting in and out of sleep amid an orgy going on all around them. That it should in fact be very not okay.

 

But to Bruce, this was not a place of disturbance. It was familiar. Comforting.

 

Here the warmth of their bodies lapped over him, the smell of sex and laundry soap in the air, and he could hear them all breathing.

 

Bruce, for the first time in his entire life, felt like he belonged right where he was. Felt like he was not battling against the weight of his place in the universe. He had already found it.

\---

While the others were asleep – or at least getting the hell out of his face – Stark took the opportunity to…have a look around. Romanov and Banner, it turned out, were actually right. These people really did believe that these songs were the manifestations of their souls.

 

Well, no, to be honest that was romanticizing it quite a bit.

 

It was actually a musical representation of a complex psychological profile done via advanced brain scans, which made it sound a whole lot more believable.

 

What was less believable was that they also apparently had…

 

Jesus, it felt too cheesy to even think the word.

 

Soulmates.

 

These people believed in fucking soulmates.

 

Little Natalia has five, which is not just unusual, it's almost unheard of. Legendary.

 

Stark frowns. Hm. Perhaps it’s the Avengers? The original six, all together? But he isn’t the soulmate type, not in any universe, and he doesn’t buy that Natasha in any world would agree to let him bone her. Many celebrities have songs that are public knowledge, but no one on the team does, not even the kids. Not within this universe, anyway.

 

Stark decides that he needs to go a little deeper, search for information in the less…publicly available places. Basically, he wants to hack himself.

 

It’s a gamble, but his gamble pays off.

 

FRIDAY does not consider it a hacking attempt, because he has all the correct passwords, he quite literally _is_ Tony Stark. The system consider him an entirely legitimate user. There’s some odd mechanical prototypes in the workbooks, including a body suit for Wanda that he’s definitely stealing for later. But he has a feeling that because music is important here, that should be what he’s really looking for.

 

At first, everything seems quite ordinary in Tony Stark’s music library, except there seem to be separate file folders for some of his favorite bands.

 

‘Black Sabbath’

‘The Clash’

‘Iron Maiden’

‘Metallica’

‘The Temptations’

 

Huh. Alright then. Clicking on one of the folders reveals something even more puzzling: the folders do not contain songs. Each folder is filled with _video_ files.

 

Well then, best to start with the classics. Black Sabbath it is.

 

The only video he sees is date for last week and it plays for less than a minute before Stark is so appalled he can’t watch it any longer, frantically shutting the screen down. Throwing his phone down on the bed, he stares furiously at the ceiling, swallowing against the sudden nauseous clench of his esophagus.

 

He does try to sleep that night, but he doesn’t have much luck. Every time he closes his eyes he can see that horrible image and he awakes, disgusted at the sight and ashamed to have been witness to it.

 

It did nothing to explain all the other strange occurrences here, but Stark has just seen the proof of it with his own eyes. What he did not know was why no one had done anything, why no one had…stopped him? Helped her? Why she was still here, and he was allowed to just…walk around. Like an innocent. They were down there acting like one big happy family, when one among them had committed such a violent, cruel act on another.

 

Stark never knew there was a more horrible feeling than watching someone he ~~was infatuated with~~ ~~had a huge crush on~~ used to admire, murdering his mother.

 

But watching Steve rape Natasha was easily a hundred times more sickening than that.


	7. let's do the twist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time difference refers to the fact that I had the idea for the original fic after Spiderman: Homecoming and the idea for the sequel was conceived after Infinity War, meaning that they would've settled their problems immediately after Ragnarok and the canon Avengers didn't finish Thanos for almost a year after that.

What Stark should logically do and what his gut tells him he _needs_ to do are two different things.

 

Logically, he knows that Natasha has always been more of a grudgingly respected coworker than a friend toward him. She would hardly welcome his help under any circumstances, never mind something so sensitive and personal as this. Many victims of assault are afraid, ashamed of the event, and try their best to pretend it never happened. Natasha strikes him as a person who would be scarily good at that, actually. This is not his world, and these are not his people. He has no real business inserting himself within their problems and conflicts.

 

Rationally, he should leave this entire situation behind himself, wait for the arrival of the Guardians, get Parker back, and hightail it the fuck out of this madhouse.

 

The trouble is, beneath all of that rationalizing Stark knows he isn’t going to do that. It isn’t the right thing to do, and she might hate his guts and resent 90% of his entire existence, but this is still Natasha. Maybe not his, but she’s still herself. He can’t live with the thought that someone she knows, someone she _trusts_ (loves?) did that to her and no one did anything about it.

 

Going directly to her and asking about this was out of the question completely, of course – for one thing, she disliked him intensely, and for another, this was a traumatic issue and he wasn’t going to shove it at her without some serious planning and preparation first – plan and prep he probably didn’t have time for, seeing as he wanted to fuck off this universe as quickly as humanly possible.

 

But there were two people he trusted without question and though they were a literal world from him in a certain sense, Pepper and Rhodey still had his confidence. In this case, he thought Pepper would be a better choice. While Rhodey was a treasure, he had the feeling Pepper would have more useful advice when it came to speaking with a sexual assault survivor about accusing her attacker, despite said attacker being one of her closest friends.

 

“FRIDAY.”

 

This is a pause before the AI responds, almost doubtful, “Yes, Mister Stark?”

 

“I’d like to speak with P-Ms. Potts as soon as she’s available please. Alone.”

 

“Very well.” Another pause. “Ms. Potts has agreed to see you during a private breakfast. Please board a residential elevator and I will escort you to the appropriate floor.”

 

On Floor 201, with as much trepidation as an artificial intelligence could express, FRIDAY informs the only people awake – Bruce, Bucky, and Natasha – “Stark has requested a private meeting with Ms. Potts.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Bucky says, flipping the newspaper to the crossword. “He’s not happy and as far as he knows, she’s one of the only friendly faces here.”

 

“Keep us updated, please,” Natasha asks, glancing at the ceiling as she places her teapot back on its warmer.

 

“Yes Agent Romanov,” FRIDAY says, “Mister Stark has displayed several markers of an anxiety attack.”

 

“He’s unsettled, but he isn’t dangerous,” Bruce says firmly. “Stark might hate us, but he isn’t going to hurt Virginia.”

 

“Roger that, Doctor Banner.”

 

When he still owned the tower, Pepper lived with him in the penthouse. She’d never lived anywhere but with him in the penthouse. Subconsciously, that’s where Tony expects to be dropped off, which is why it’s a bit disorienting when the elevator door opens and it’s a modern, sleek kitchen filled with white marble, stainless steel, and dark wooden cabinets.

 

Pepper herself is sitting at the breakfast bar, a holo of the morning newsfeed playing on the surface as she eats her bowl of granola and yogurt, feet elegantly crossed at the ankle. “You’re up early.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, sitting beside her. There’s a lovely Monet reproduction hanging above the sofa, though the living room look more like a conference room that a place of recreation.

 

Laser-focused, Pepper cuts right through him. “Because of your current environment or something else?”

 

“Something else,” he admits, hopping into the chair beside her. Since he has no idea how to ask this, he tries to soften the question. “If I’ve learned a fact that’s extremely upsetting and harmful, but difficult to hear, would you believe me?”

 

And Pepper thinks, _Oh dear. Their plan didn’t work after all – he’s found out_. “I would certainly hear you out, but just because something offends or upset you-”

 

“No, Pep,” Stark says sharply. “It’s not just offensive, it’s illegal, it’s wrong, and the person who did it should go to jail.”

 

 _Well_. Polyamory was not necessarily universally accepted but her own version of Tony Stark has never expressed such a strong moralistic view about it. “I…have the feeling that we’re having two different discussions here, To-Mister Stark. Can you be more specific?”

 

Stark swallows, steals her coffee cup, and takes several large swallows before steeling himself. “I’ve seen evidence that someone here has committed an act of violence against someone else.”

 

Pepper blinks at him, clearly still confused by this whole conversation. “Acts of violence are uh, kind of what the Avengers do.”

 

Sighing, Stark blurts out “I saw a video of Steve sexually assaulting Natasha.” Closing his eyes, he swallows the sudden bile rising in the back of his throat. “Possibly more than once.”

 

He never thought he’d feel this again in his life, but this is honestly worse. What he’d seen Barnes do was the cold-blooded murder of his only family, but Barnes had the excuse of not being in his right mind.

 

 _Tell me it was an alien drug_ , he pleads to her silently. _Tell me it was mind control voodoo. Tell me it was for an op. Tell me anything but the man with my friend and childhood hero’s face committed this atrocity of his own free will. Don’t tell me the person I admired was not only capable of lying to me about my parents’ murders, he could violate someone who trusts and cares for him like that without any hint of mercy or remorse._

 

If it were Rogers, if it were Stark’s own Steven Grant Rogers, he would know in a heartbeat he wasn’t capable of this. But this wasn’t his Steve. This wasn’t his Steve and he couldn’t say that with confidence when his own eyes told him what was true.

 

He can see that Pepper is disbelieving – he won’t understand why. Because Pepper knows there are some weird kinky things going on up there, she isn’t stupid, and Sam was right. If you have five soulmates, you’re probably not into missionary and vanilla sex, at least not all the time.

 

What she can’t believe is that none of the so-called ‘geniuses’ on 201 thought to lock the systems from Stark’s access when they apparently kept videos of some of their more… _controversial_ activities.

 

Stark won’t just let her handwave this away and there’s no reason he should. Carefully, Pepper says “Let me…talk to Natasha.” And Steve, and Bucky, and Bruce, and Clint, and Tony. And bash them all over the head. At his expression, she hastily adds “I won’t tell her that you were the one to give me this tip. Just let me speak with her and I will find a way to resolve this – one way or another.”

 

As soon as Stark departs, she applies fresh lipstick and goes up to 201. “You have made a huge mistake,” she huffs, sitting at the breakfast table and then frowning. “Where is Steve?”

 

“Shower,” Bucky mumbles, trying not to spray toast crumbs at Miss Pepper. Their captain tends to sleep like a baby now that he’s on a steady diet of as much home-cooked food as he wants, regular exercise just for the sake of it, plenty of affection, and lots of sex. Hell, they all do.

 

Bucky would’ve assumed that this lifestyle would drive Steve batshit insane, but he seems happier here than he’s ever been. No, actually – he’s knows that Steve would’ve been unhappy with this, in the bad old days. Probably get a wife, a couple of kids, if Peggy could talk him into it. A desk job somewhere, because there was no way she’d let him galivant around warzones once they got married. Maybe…maybe he’d end up as mean as Howard, that way.

 

Or even before that, before he became a superhero. Maybe he’d get sick and never get better…no. No, Bucky can’t even bear to contemplate that, not when he was shipped off half a world away and had no way of getting him medicine. Making sure that he had something to eat, drank plenty of water, didn’t get out of bed before he was well enough to go to work. No way of making sure he wasn’t thrown out into the street because he was sick and couldn’t make rent. Would Bucky have ever made it back to Brooklyn? Even without Zola mucking things up?

 

He…somehow doesn’t think so.

 

Anyway, in the here and now, Steve doesn’t just have Peggy, he doesn’t even just have Bucky – he has Natasha and Clint and Bruce and Tony.

 

And Wanda and Peter.

 

Sam. Miss Pepper. Miss May. The Guardians. The Vision. Danvers. Fury. Scott and Hope and Luis. Thor and Brunnhilde. Even that psychopath Loki plays for their side, at least for now.

 

Bucky doesn’t have to watch his back alone, because now he has at least four other people willing to help any time. And that’s such a fucking relief Bucky didn’t realize how stressful it was until now.

 

“Aren’t you late for something?” Steve teases Pepper playfully, grabbing an orange and an apple from the fruit basket. His hair is still damp, but he is otherwise well-put together – he and Tony are both fussy about that. They don’t go out to common areas unless they are fully dressed, even if Tony is dressed sloppily.

 

“Yes,” she says sternly. “Which is why you know this is very serious.”

 

Now was as good a time as any to get this over with – if the accusation was rooted in fact, Bruce and James would be confused and alarmed by it and if, as she suspected, it was something more innocent, they would not be surprised by the revelation.

 

“The six of you have not been as careful as you might think. Tony didn’t think to tell FRIDAY that Stark’s access should be suspended without further notice. He stumbled upon something he found extremely disturbing and I have to say, if what he said was true, then he has every reason to be. Please understand, that you are all friends of mine, but I don’t let things like this go without asking questions.”

 

Concerned, Bucky says “Was it something about me and Tony?”

 

“It was not,” Pepper says calmly. “Stark watched, from what I can interpret – because he was very, very reluctant to describe this with any detail – Steve violently engaging in intercourse with Natasha that did not seem…consensual.”

 

Every man in the room blanches, but Natasha blinks and says “Oh, that.”

 

Pepper sighs silently in relief. “Am I to understand that this was a planned out fantasy and not an actual event?”

 

“Yes, of course,” she says simply, unabashed. Glancing at Steve, still white-faced and sick looking, she adds “Oh, please don’t wuss out on me now – you’re so good at it, Steve. James has never been willing to fully commit to it, you know he doesn’t enjoy the…grislier parts.”

 

“And I _do_ ,” Steve mutters, looking ashamed and ill at ease in his own skin.

 

Profoundly grateful this conversation did not have to go down a much darker path, Pepper reaches over to squeeze his hand. “I’m certain you have nothing to be guilty for, as long as Natasha was consenting.”

 

“Enthusiastically,” the Widow adds, spreading Nutella on her toast.

 

“There you go,” Pepper nods. “Thank you for not being angry with me. I was certain it wasn’t true, but I had to ask.”

 

Steve shakes his head with almost comical force. “You don’t ever have to apologize for looking out for Natasha, even if she doesn’t need it.”

 

Pepper says “Of course. I’m sure she’d do the same for me.”

 

Natasha pauses, toast triangle halfway to her mouth, the sudden idea of someone attempting that with Pepper, and her eyes narrow dangerously. Pepper, bless her heart, doesn’t noticed the murder in her eyes, but her soulmates feel the sudden urge to cover their genitals. “I would be having a good deal more than a chat with your attacker, Pepper,” she says silkily. “Let me talk to Stark, I’ll make sure he and the others are set straight, so you don’t have to go around soothing them. Deal?”

 

“Thank you,” Pepper breathes gratefully. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me because I actually _am_ late!”

\---

Natasha’s first instinct is to let Stark stew on this for a while longer, but apart from being an opportunity to find more things he oughtn’t, she also has to remind herself that at the heart of this, this is actually _Tony_.

 

Even if he’s about as agreeable as a wet cat and treats her like an incurable disease, it’s still Tony, and he was genuinely concerned for her safety. He was worried for her and she isn’t going to torture him needlessly.

 

But she does have two goals here and she has a perfect, though questionable, way of addressing both of them at once.

 

She needs to assure Tony that she was not abused in any way, and she must prevent he and the others from getting any more curious about their counterparts’ lives here in this universe.

 

So Natasha freaks the shit out of them.

 

Probably, she should’ve talked to her mates first, but the looks on their faces are priceless. After getting the guarantee from FRIDAY that they will all be where she wants them, Natasha goes back down to her former floor.

 

“Pepper informed me that one of you saw something that upset you,” she says, perched on a stool from the breakfast bar, in the voice of a kindergarten teacher addressing her class.

 

Stark looks like he’s about to shit his pants, which would be funny if he didn’t think she was actually about to kill him. Rogers, Banner, Romanov, and Barton just look extremely confused. Soon, they will be just as terrified as he is.

 

“Uh, okay,” Barton says slowly.

 

She can see him and Romanov trying to read her, trying to decode her signals and figure out what’s going on here.

 

Brightly, she gestures to the wall and says “So, I’m here to clear up the confusion.” To FRIDAY, she says “Has the right one already been queued?”

 

“It has, Agent Romanov.”

 

“Whenever you’re ready, FRIDAY. Play and extend by sixty seconds.”

 

Rather than giving a verbal response, the AI simply begins projecting the requested media on the wall, filling the surface to its edges as per her request. Natasha wants the image to _really_ stick with them.

 

The angle was perfect to see her naked back as well as her hands bound in front of her, and the entire room could hear her. “No, no…please stop!” A hand threads through her scarlet hair and jerks her face up, streaked with tears. In case there was any mistake about what was happening, her face twists, and she cries, a thready whimper, “Please…you’re too big!”

 

Rogers stands abruptly, looking murderous, when the camera shows that the man violating Natasha is _Steve_. Viciously bearing his teeth and yanking on his handful of her hair, Steve says “I’m sorry, what was that?”

 

A fresh trail of tears spills down her cheeks. “Please, Steve, it doesn’t fit!”

 

Romanov feels a sensation go down her spine. She knows herself, and this is not an act she’s putting on, this is real fear and real pain, but there’s something about this that she can’t quite put her finger on here.

 

Banner is horrified, green flecks swirling is eyes, and Barton is white as chalk, whispering “What the fuck is this?”

 

Steve, with a sadistic gleam in his eye, cups one of her breasts and pinches at her nipple until a strangled, pained cry comes from her. “What did I say about squirming around, Natasha?”

 

“I’m s-sorry,” she sobs. “You’re hurting me!”

 

Stark looks nauseous – this is where he had to throw his phone away, he couldn’t stand to see any more of it.

 

“I can always make it hurt more if you need some motivation to stay where I fucking put you,” Steve says darkly, slapping her breast. The force he uses to fuck her is absolutely brutal, each thrust jarring her whole body, getting faster and faster until he suddenly barks, “’m gonna need a number here, Natasha!”

 

To them, it seems like such a non-sequitur, and then Natasha wails “I’m a ten, I’m a _fucking ten_ , don’t you dare stop now!”

 

As soon as the words leave her lips, Steve grabs her by the neck and chokes her. Natasha begins trembling violently, eyes glazed and dilated and face still wet with tears as Steve cuts off her oxygen.

 

All rational thought leaves the six other peoples’ heads as they realize that Natasha is orgasming in front of them, while Steve chokes her. She gulps in air loudly as he relaxes his hand, murmuring “You want another one?”

 

“A minute,” she gasps, nodding.

 

More gently supporting her now, Steve kisses her temple, and the video cuts off as the sixty seconds she extended the clip to are over.

 

“Hope that cleared things up for you guys!” Natasha says happily, looking at their horrified, gob-smacked faces. “Any questions?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Barton says, blinking rapidly. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

 

“Someone who will remain nameless accidentally stumbled upon a piece of something they weren’t supposed to see,” Natasha says calmly. “Unfortunately, they didn’t have any context for what they saw, and I’m told they were Extremely Upset and Concerned For My Welfare.” Looking at Stark, she adds “I hope this eases their mind.”

 

“That was disgusting,” Rogers breathes.

 

Hm.

 

She wonders if the others really _don’t_ notice that he’s half-hard – but then again, Steve had confessed to being nice and randy around them plenty of times and none of them had known a thing. Rogers himself might not even be aware he was aroused from watching Steve hurt her. He was curiously good at concealing the things he subconsciously chose to hide.

 

Natasha Looks at him.

 

‘ _I know you, Steve Rogers. I know all your filthiest, dirtiest thoughts and I’ll bet all the money in Stark’s bank account that the next time you want to jerk off, you’ll be trying not to think about choking your blond bitch’_. She smirks at him. ‘ _And I know that no matter how hard you try to stop yourself, you won’t be able to finish yourself off until you think about fucking her till she cries_.’

 

He jerks away, the almost seductive stare too much when he is desperately trying to convince himself that he would never do that to Romanov.

 

Havok wreaked for the day, Natasha waltzes back upstairs to 201.

 

Bucky is already suspicious when she walks into the kitchen. “Alright, what did you do to them?”

 

“We had a lovely chat. I’m fairly certain Stark gets the point now.”

 

“Do I want to know?” he asks, after a long moment.

 

Sweetly, she replies, “No James, no, you do not.”

\---

“I wouldn’t ever do that to you,” Rogers says quietly, grave with the weight of this shared experience between all of them.

 

Romanov wonders who he’s trying to convince – her, the team, or himself. Instead, because she can’t quite stop herself, she teases him. “Not even if I asked you to, huh?”

 

She was expecting him to immediately respond with a ‘no’, or the more likely option, get flustered with her the way he did when she asked about his last kiss. Which is why Rogers manages to surprise her, blinking at Romanov slowly. It’s very rapid, almost unnoticeable, but he looks at her neck, eyes darkening slightly, at then quickly goes back to meeting her gaze, as though it never happened.

 

 _My god, you really thought about that. And you_ liked _it, didn’t you_?

 

Behind them, Barton says “Okay, I think I know what’s going on here.”

 

 _Rogers having a kinky sexual crisis?_ Romanov thinks wryly. To her greater astonishment, Barton explains “I’m pretty sure that their Natasha, Steve, and Tony are in a threesome.”

 

Rogers and Romanov turn to stare at him in disbelief and Stark scoffs. “Yeah, that’s isn’t happening on any planet. Try again.”

 

“Seriously,” Barton insists, gesturing in the direction of the elevator. “She lives on 201, we all know that, and that’s where Tony lives.”

 

“We don’t know _that_ ,” Banner points out.

 

“Things are weird here, but these people don’t seem that different from us, personality-wise. So.” Barton stares at Stark. “It’s the top floor. Would you live anywhere but the top floor, with the hot girl sleeping there?”

 

For the first time, Stark looks uncertain. “Well…”

 

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” Barton snorts. “So, she lives on Tony’s floor and Steve is getting scary with her – either she’s cheating on both of them, or they’re having a freaky threesome.”

 

“She wouldn’t be cheating on them. Or at least, I wouldn’t do it, and that counts for something if your theory is right,” Romanov says shrewdly. “There’s too much risk for not enough reward, especially when you’re on the same team. Either they’re sharing her, or they’ve formed a three-way, like Barton says.”

 

“You and I would not be doing the nasty,” Stark points out. “ _Rogers_ and I would not be doing the nasty. I would not be dumb enough to divorce Pepper.”

 

“And yet, it seems to have happened,” Banner muses. “I – _Bruce_ – lives here, as does James. Loki is apparently no longer a threat, and the Guardians are established allies. The compound upstate doesn’t seem to exist, or if it does, it’s used as a secondary off-shoot, and the tower seems to have gained several residence. I’ve noticed that their timeline also seems to be ahead of ours. The question then becomes – what changed for them, and when?”

 

Rogers and Stark simultaneously say “Thanos is dead.”

 

“We killed Thanos, too,” Banner says quietly.

 

“We killed Thanos _last week_ ,” Romanov says dryly. “They killed Thanos _a year ago. Their time_. Which for the curious, is nearly _two_ years ago, our time. I’m more interested in how they managed to get rid of him so quickly, because we’ve spent a year getting our asses handed to us, while they’ve been relaxing in relative comfort since 2017.”

 

“That’s what changed,” Barton says bluntly. “Wouldn’t things be a lot less shitty if Thanos died two years ago? They’re actually living behind us – check the calendar, it’s 2018 here. But the past year of bullshit never happened for _them_.”

 

“That’s a question you can save for later.” They turn and see Tony leaning against the very same wall where Natasha had played a homemade porn video for them. Lifting a brow, he adds, “It’s epic, I promise. I almost died, the god of lunatics achieved thirty seconds of apotheosis and then got a sudden field amputation, Thor nearly lost his _other_ eye, a hot glowing space babe showed up, tons of alien dog monsters tried to eat Steve and the king of Wakanda, the Hulk was almost cooked extra crispy, and _then_ I almost died again.”

 

At their bemused expressions, Tony drawls, “The Guardians are here. I assumed you were ready to get started now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gents, please be safe with your rape fantasies :) Also, don't leave your sex tapes laying around for anyone to find.


	8. dancing in the street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to break from tradition by posting the songs used at the beginning of the chapter, because I strongly recommend listening along even if you don't usually.
> 
> "Pure Imagination (Remix)" - Dotan Negrin & Prismatic Mantis  
> "Barracuda" - Heart  
> "Magic Man" - Heart  
> "Don't Fear the Reaper" - The Spiritual Machines  
> "The Winter Soldier" - Henry Jackman  
> "Listen to the Band" - The Monkees  
> "The Last Unicorn" - Ninja Sex Party

“What are they?” Steven asks, glancing at their tour guide/escort.

 

Bruce looks back at the kids – and they are kids, he doesn’t care that James is twenty-four, they’re kids. “Aliens,” he says simply.

 

“Uh,” Anthony says, shifting around eagerly. “Good aliens or bad aliens?”

 

“Mostly good. Mostly.”

  
Anthony and Robert share a look, their nerd brains excited by the thought of talking to real actual aliens.

 

“No.” Bruce says blandly, seemingly out of nowhere.

 

“No, what?” James asks, puzzled.

 

“No, you cannot talk to the aliens. You can’t bring back whatever information they tell you to the future – it isn’t ready yet and they aren’t here to give interviews.”

 

“Can we interview you?” Anthony asks, in a slightly challenging tone Bruce is very familiar with.

 

“Maybe,” Bruce allows, brows raised. “If you behave yourselves.”

 

James snorts. Steven Rogers has never behaved himself a day in his life and, he suspects, neither has Anthony Stark.

 

Rocket – the other Rocket – tries to approach the Guardians at a run, which leads to Peter and _their_ Rocket pulling a gun on him, Peter yelling “What the hell, man?”

 

“Nope,” Rocket grunts, gesturing that his counterpart back up with the weapon. “Hell no. Move your ass. I don’t care what your sob story is, you’ll get your family back and in the meantime, you can stay the fuck away from mine.”

 

“Dude, that’s a bit harsh,” Peter complains – _he’d_ only pulled the gun because he was startled. Things that tended to rush him were things that tended to need being shot at.

 

“Dear Rabbit,” Thor tells the raccoon gently. “My friend is protective of his family, but he is right – we _will_ retrieve the Guardians, good as new.”

 

In the EUTERPE room, the Infinity gauntlet has been placed on the console tower, eerie light spilling into three direction. In one third of the room, stands the sleeping Gamora in brilliant orange, the sleeping yellow Vision stands in the other third, and in the final third, bathed in red light, Bucky, Wanda, Peter, and the Guardians stand but do not sleep.

 

Loki and Laufeyson confer lowly with each other, before Loki finally announces “I believe that Vision and Gamora are the most easily brought back, and so we’ll start with them. Gamora, I will need your aid, but only briefly.”

 

Vision is easiest of all, the only person who does not need an escort – the stone is not an unnatural place for him, after all. He was created from its power.

 

Sweet and soothing, pulling out in long strings like strands of taffy, the music slowly forms a body for him.

 

 _“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams_ …”

 

Tony’s mouth curls up at the serene whimsy of it. Willy Wonka had the perfect mixture of creativity, wit, and weirdness for his not-quite-child.

 

He is disoriented, confused at first. Devastated as Rogers pulls him aside to explain why there seems to be two – even three – versions of the same people in this strange room in a familiar place.

 

Loki gestures Gamora up to the console with the gauntlet. “This shouldn’t be terribly taxing for you – I just need you to be here to…wake her, shall we say. Wake her up properly, and from there, I believe she should latch on and pull herself back to life. You’ll be using your own Echo, and that should be enough to catch her attention.”

 

Nodding, Gamora waits a moment for their signal before lightly touching her fingertips upon the surface.

 

Peter roars with the laughter at the most recognizable opener in rock and roll. “That’s my girl!”

 

 _“So! This ain’t the end, I saw you again_  
Today, I had to tear my heart away…  
You smiled like the sun, kisses for everyone…  
And tales, it never fails!  
You lying so low in the weeds…  
I bet you gonna ambush me!  
You have me down, down, down  
To my knees – wouldn’t ya?  
…Barracuda!”

 

Gamora is certain that her counterpart must have a very strong will to live yet, because she doesn’t make it any farther before the gauntlet flares, glowing as her other self latches onto the lifeline she created for her, the music abruptly switching to another song as the other Gamora clawed her way back to life.

 

“ _Try, try, try to understand…_  
He’s a magic man, Mama!  
Ah, he’s a magic man!”

 

While she is fully formed at the moment the song ends, the other woman collapses straight to her knees, already falling unconscious from her ordeal. Drax attempts to lift her, but Peter gets there first, muttering, “I’ll take her – you’ve got other shit to do.”

 

Peter does not stop the other Rocket from approaching him, despite his own friend’s twitchiness. “Is she…?”

 

“She fainted,” he says with the ghost of a grin. “But she’s okay.”

 

“Your other loved ones require escorts from the Reality stone back into the world of the living,” Loki says, with a slight grimace at his cobalt hand. “Due to the abysmal attitude all of you arrived with, I’ve made the executive decision to disallow you from being among them.”

 

“With all due respect,” Rogers says, which is never a good sign. “You don’t have the right to make that decision.”

 

“Oh, of course not. But we agree with him,” Tony says lightly. He is already standing in front of Parker’s flickering form. Meeting Rogers’ stare, he adds “You’re all fucking miserable – totally understandable, by the way – but that’s no way to talk someone into coming back to the land of the living.”

 

“Stark-” he sighs, like a tired parent.

 

“Don’t,” Steve barks, and he jerks, startled. Steve has taken his place in front of Barnes. “ _Do not_ talk to him like that. He’s not a goddamn child and your word means nothing here.”

 

“By all means,” Loki sounds bored, and gestures to the console where he and Laufeyson stand. “I believe Quill would say ‘ _hit me with your best shot’_. Make the attempt, if you wish. We’ll even put the right connection in. Pick your target.”

 

“Good job, dude!” Peter calls. “Try not to sound like the Grim Reaper during your delivery, though!”

 

Firmly, Rogers says “I choose Bucky. We can bring them in.”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows at Steve, who huffs. “Fine. Again, I cannot believe I am quoting Peter Quill, ‘ _knock yourself out’_.”

 

To Rogers, Loki says “When you are ready, place your hand upon the console. All of your mental focus must on your target – we will lead your energy to the right place, but if you are not concentrating, this will not work. You will hear music, and perhaps even colors and images may appear, but you must ignore them and continue to place your energy in focusing upon the person you are resurrecting.”

 

“How do I know that it’s worked?”

 

“His soul will speak back to yours, and begin forming his corporeal matter.” Rogers blinks, clearly not expecting that answer, and Loki shrugs unapologetically. “I have no way of knowing he’s heard you until then.”

 

“I know this whole thing has been hard, on all of you.” Steve tells him quietly. “But I strongly suggest you reconsider.”

 

“I can bring him back,” Rogers insists, and approaches EUTERPE.

 

Sighing quietly, Steve steps back from the platform. Out of sight, Tony gently squeezes his arm.

 

The notes are familiar, so familiar that at first, Tony believes he has hallucinated them, but that can’t possibly be right.

 

Then, like an eerie angelic choir, a series of voices begins with exactly the words he was certain weren’t coming:

 

“ _All our times have come. Here but now they’re gon_ e.” Colors flicker around Rogers, who squints in concentration. “ _Seasons don’t fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain…”_

_“We can be like they are.”_

_“Come on, baby…”_

_“Don’t fear the reaper…”_

 

With a chill, Tony realizes that while there is only one distinct female voice, there are multiple male voices. He…he hadn’t honestly considered that the other group of Avengers were just like them, but perhaps this is a clue that they are. Perhaps they also have soulmates, and just don’t know it?

 

Wisps of color – gold, silver, green, blue, purple, and red – swirl off Rogers’ back like flames and form a whirling tornado of colors around them as the music builds.

 

An eerie note that scrapes up Tony’s spine rings through the air and he knows then that Rogers is going to fail. That he already _has_ failed.

 

The joined voices crying out is eerie and beautiful and pleading “ _Baby, I’m your man_!” but Tony knows instinctively that no good will come from this, and he can see from his soulmates’ faces, they know it too.

 

A ringing silence fills the room afterwards. EUTERPE’s console tower glows with the same champagne gold as Bucky’s natural color, lingering in a pulsing of barely contained energy.

 

“Get away from it,” Bucky whispers, the whites of his eyes large and pronounced.

 

Rogers turn his head to look at him, brows furrowed. “Steve, NOW!”

 

Only the supersoldiers’ ears were keen enough, but soon everyone else could hear it, too: a low, moaning wail and that went on and on.

 

Sick, Steve stares at Rogers and whispers, “What in god’s name have you done?”

 

Each time, the wail got louder and louder, the champagne gold snaps and flickers around the gauntlet as the sound built up little by little. A synthetic, flickering sound, like an old television whose station doesn’t quite stay on the way it should.

 

There is a growing sound, too, like…like an airplane taking off, wheels spinning on pavement.

 

The entire room jumps at the pounding noise of metal on metal, the frantic surging of something that desperately wishes to get out. Barnes’ image gets harder and harder to see and the golden light lashing out becomes more and more erratic.

 

A tapping rhythm in the background has the staccato of automatic gunfire.

 

Amidst it all, still the woman’s voice wails.

 

“Loki, cut it off!” Bucky yells.

 

“I can’t!” the god calls back “It isn’t I creating it – this is Barnes!”

 

Images flicker around them – horrifying in their lack of clarity, brief spots of blood, a darkened room with flickering lights.

 

Young Natasha sitting alone in a room.

 

The wailing goes on and on, a chorus of metal pounding and the blare of horns, and then suddenly, the whole thing abruptly stops.

 

The whole room feels like its been holding its breath.

 

Barnes is a barely visible outline in red and Rogers – and most of his group – are the color of chalk. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, stunned. “He…he didn’t listen…”

 

Bucky and Steve look at each other. They both know what has gone wrong here. The sound and images mostly carry details about the Winter Soldier. It was the clearest indication that Rogers and Barnes hadn’t really worked out the events surrounding what happened with Stark, Barnes’ past and Rogers’ lies. Try as they might to run from it, both of those things would taint every interaction with each other until they were dealt with.

 

“Can we not do that again?” Peter asks, glancing at the still-sleeping Gamora. “Can ya’ll please just get this the fuck over with?”

 

Loki glances over at Mantis – he had been intending to ask her a question anyway – but the girl is holding her head, nearly in tears as Drax resists the urge to touch her in his concern.

 

Mantis is in agony. The Avengers had finally joined their chords together in one beautiful and harmonious song, one that Wanda and Peter were aligned to as well. The new group of people not only don’t have their chords aligned, they were worse than this world’s Avengers ever were. It was a little like being locked inside a kettledrum being played by a thousand shrieking monkeys.

 

Loki sighs at seeing her grimace. “Our travelers, I presume?”

 

She nods.

 

“Allow me to-” he waves his blue-fingered hand and a great deal of the noise ceases. “-quiet the room.

 

Immediately, the lines of pain pressed around her eyes relax. “Thank you.”

 

Cynically eyeing the group from his own world lined up in front of the lost ones, Loki says “They haven’t picked the right ones, have they?”

 

Tony has chosen Parker. Steve, Barnes. Clint, Maximoff. Drax and Mantis chose each other. Rocket stands in front of Groot, and Gamora picked Quill.

 

Grimacing at his perceptiveness and trying not to offend anyone, Mantis slowly says “The Guardians have chosen correctly. None of the Avengers have.”

 

Both groups of Avengers look at each other in confusion. Wasn’t this the most logical formation? This definitely felt like the most logical choice.

 

Quietly, to the humans of her own world, Mantis murmurs “Your relationships in this world have affected this decision, whether they think it should or not.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes at this melodrama. “Move them wherever you like, but do it quickly. I’ve spent enough of my day on this nonsense.”

 

Gently, Mantis gestures the three of them back, then moves Steve to Maximoff. She pauses a moment, antennae twitching fiercely, before she lets Clint stand back and brings Natasha to Parker. There is a longer moment before she finally guides Tony back to Barnes, though it makes the other stare in dismay.

 

Brow quirked, Loki says “Final answer?”

 

She nods and goes back to her place in front of (and beside) Drax. “They’re ready.”

 

“That _cannot_ be right,” Stark protests, staring. How come he got the Manchurian Candidate and the she-devil took Parker?

 

“No,” Natasha murmurs, peering at the sleeping Parker. With a glance at Peter, anxiously watching on, she says “I think we’re all where we need to be.”

 

Gesturing to Gamora – the physically corporeal Gamora – Loki says “Gamora, you may start first.”

 

“Hey!” the other Rocket barks. “Why the hell are we starting with Quill?”

 

“Hey!” Peter protests, pouting.

 

“No particular reason,” Loki answers mildly, with a slow guileless blink. “It’s just that she’s the only one I trust to get this right on the first try without my help, and I’d like to make some progress before the next millennia occurs.”

 

“Fair enough,” the other Rocket grumbles, conceding his point.

 

“Ready?” Loki asks, addressing both her and his own counterpart. Both nod, and they wait for Gamora to take her place at the console. She looks relaxed, confident, and Loki knows she was the right choice. “Routing connection in three, two, one…”

 

Slapping her hand down, Gamora holds her other palm up and open, light streaming forward as all her will pours outward toward the spirit of Peter Quill. The music was as commanding and forceful as that will.

 

 _“Hey, hey mercy woman_  
Plays the song, and no one listens  
I need help, I’m falling again!  
Play the drum a little louder  
Tell me I can live without her  
If I only listen to the band –  
LISTEN TO THE BAND!”

 

Commanding the soul of Peter Quill to listen to her song and obey its force. The red hue of his slumbering being increased its intensity, and many realized that Quill had opened his eyes and was actually looking right at Gamora now.

 

As the music fades, fissures of red, like dried blood, crack up the tower.

 

“ _When the last eagle flies,_  
Over the last crumbling mountain…  
And the last lion roars,  
At the last dusty fountain…  
In the shadow of the forest,  
Though she may be old and worn…  
They will stare, unbelieving,  
At the last unicorn…”

 

The music is melancholy but somehow triumphant, full of all the world’s sadness, but there’s a joy there, too.

 

“ _Look and see her, how she sparkles!_  
It’s the last unicorn!  
_I’m alive! I’m alive_!”

 

A single tear escape the corner of Gamora’s eye. This Quill isn’t hers, but she is glad that he will live. That she helped return him to his proper place, the red light becoming pink flesh and dirty blond hair, Quill’s first real breath heaving through him like a rock launched into a lake.

 

She stumbles a little, her knees feeling rubbery as she leaves the platform. Loki had warned the people of his own world that this task would require a great deal of their energy and it wasn't until now that she realized how true his words were.

 

A strange sound behind her makes Gamora turn and look and Drax must catch her before she falls to the ground.

 

It seems that when the two minds of different universes converge upon Tony’s musical machine, it can open a portal into yet another dimension.

 

And Ego stands right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I tried to make sure that the Guardians kept their classic rock/dad music one-hit-wonder roots for all their music.


	9. dance with the devil part i

Gamora stumbles back against Drax as they and the other Guardians stare at Ego in horror, though he seems not to even see them. The window of the portal expands, and Peter comes into view, younger and more guileless than he is now, as does a young woman with a smooth sheet of long dark hair standing at Ego’s side, holding a clipboard. Ego looks a bit less casual than the way he portrayed himself in their own world, actually wearing a tie and polished leather shoes. The young woman, too, is also dressed in what could be called ‘business casual’ to the modern human.

 

Peter feels nauseous as Ego slaps his younger self on the back. “I’m so happy to have you here, my boy. So glad that you’ll finally be able to join the family business!”

 

“Uh, yeah, Dad. Great,” he says, glancing around the institutional-looking hallway. “What exactly…is this place?”

 

“This is the Ultra-Enhanced Research Unit,” Ego booms, with a great deal more enthusiasm than his son, gesturing expansively around him.

 

“Yeah, but what do you guys actually  _do_  here?” Peter asks, Ego leading him down the hall.

 

The young woman, though the two men physically in the room with her don’t notice, looks uneasy, anxious.

 

“We study enhanced individuals and supernatural lifeforms,” Ego says too cheerfully, bouncing on his toes.

 

Peter, watching this exchange, feels his stomach sink. The man is way too excited for this to be anything wholesome and not something absolutely terrible.

 

“Let me show you,” his father says, gesturing to another hall of dark glass cells.

 

Gamora inhales sharply, shocked, as the first cell contains both herself and her sister, or creatures that look very much like them. Nebula has a thin curtain of red hair – not like Natasha’s blood red, but brighter still, like flame, and her eyes seeming to glow with coal-dark fires. Her own skin is not such a vivid green here, but a starkly pale vine, and her hair is still streaked with magenta. Masks cover the lower half of their faces and they are both chained to the floor by their wrists, silver manacles that prevent them from reaching up to their mouths to remove the binding there.

 

Peter is immediately mesmerized by them, going right up to the glass to look at the two women, despite the dark glare Nebula gives him and the bright flare of silver lines upon the visible parts of Gamora’s face as their eyes meet. He speaks the question they all want to ask. “What are they?”

 

Amused, Ego says “The blue one is a banshee – not a pleasant looking, is she? Quite the evil eye on that one.” He watches Peter gazing at Gamora, as though spellbound. The silver of the tattoos begin to glow within her eyes. “The other one is a siren. She’s trying to use her power on you, you know. It’s why I have to keep their mouths shut. No telling what they could do if they still had their voices.”

 

“What would they do?” Peter asks, unable to tear his attention away from Gamora’s fiery silver stare. Behind the mask, the muscles of her neck and jaw were working, but with her movement and sounds stifled, there was no way to know what she’d be saying, if she could.

 

“The banshee’s cry creates a sound that breaks your eardrums, can even paralyze you if you’re too close,” Ego says, frowning. “And a siren will use her voice to promise you all your hearts deepest desires.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” he says, with a swaggering smile. Gamora blinks, but the glow still infuses her gaze, blazing from her gaze with some inner fire. “And what if my desire is  _her_?”

 

“It doesn’t work like that,” the young woman says abruptly, and they are all startled to realize that she is Mantis, her voice and cadence unmistakable despite her strangely human appearance. She is anxious, fearful at the sight of the women chained in their cell. “Not your physical desire. She can see what you want most – even if it’s something you hide from yourself, she’ll still know what it is, and no matter how impossible it is, you’ll still believe that she can give it to you.”

 

Gamora blinks again and the silver fire finally begins to bank. Peter shrugs, still giving her a half-smile. “Sounds like a politician. Or a lawyer.”

 

“These creatures aren’t like us, Pete,” his father says, with that lofty tone that Peter hated. Still hates, apparently. “They don’t feel love or pain or joy. Just the urge to survive, like any animal does.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, turning away from cell with Nebula and Gamora locked inside. “Just like animals.”

 

Each and every one of the watchers feels a chill go through them at that.

 

The young woman who is and is not Mantis looks troubled, but follows Ego’s path down to another block. “We’ve also captured an elf – a snow elf, probably – but she’s rather temperamental. I’ve had to reinforce the walls twice, beyond her magical abilities, she’s much stronger than she looks.” Ego smiles at her smugly. “Isn’t that right, Louhi?”

 

The woman in the cell, blue and covered in scrolling, elegant markings and a long braid of black hair, snorts in an unladylike manner. Her scarlet eyes watch them keenly, arms crossed, as she leans against the wall. Even if she weren’t blue, her manner would’ve given her identity away.

 

“I must admit you’re more clever than the usual mortal,” the female Loki says, looking bored. “But this hovel can’t hold me forever, butcher. And my brother will search until I’m found.” A terrifying smile crosses her lips. “It’s a pity – he’ll have all the fun of smashing your skull open. But at least I’ll get to watch him do it.”

 

“Dream on, Lady Louhi,” Ego says breezily, continuing their tour.

 

Locked into a straight-jacket, Wanda’s powers fizzling through the air, lighting her face with it’s blazing red light – right up until a purple gas hisses through the air vents and Wanda collapses forward onto the floor, knocked unconscious. “One of our rarer subjects,” he says conspiratorially. “She’s biologically human, but somehow has telekinetic abilities. We sedate her with regularity – her powers are rather dangerous to the team.”

 

An unfamiliar young woman of Asian descent is strapped down to a table, an I.V. drip attached to her arm keeping her unconscious on a semi-permanent basis. “She appears to be some kind of elemental creature – whatever she does makes the building shake and threatens the structural integrity of the entire area within a square mile. We keep her sedated for the safety of everyone in the area.”

 

Another unfamiliar woman, slim and blonde, makes all the lights in her cell rapidly flicker on and off, her hands not only chained but completely covered. “This one’s biologically human as well – we’re not quite sure what she does, but she can create knives made of pure light. There are special dampening wards around her. We have to update them frequently.”

 

There a small figure further on who is not only muzzled and chained to the floor, but also blindfolded, with both legs bound together at the ankle. Large wings flutter on either side of her gaunt body. None of them – even her mates – would’ve realized it was Natasha without her vivid hair. “What’s with the bondage queen over here?”

 

She seems to sense his approach, twitching her head in their direction despite her inability to see or hear them, the black leathery wings giving a hushed chitter as they lift with several futile flaps.

 

“One of my team’s most prized captures – she’s a succubus.” At Peter’s blank look, Ego adds “A demon who feeds on the sexual energy of her partners.”

 

Eagerly, Peter says “Can we…?”

 

“Definitely not!” Mantis says, alarmed. “It sounds appealing, but the succubus is really very dangerous! After the first experience, you will crave it again, and feel the urge to keep returning to her, until she bleeds the life from your body. For you, she is a partner. To her, you are a meal.”

 

Quietly, in the real world, Clint and Tony cackle and Natasha smirks.

 

The very last cell is filled with a familiar blue glow and slowly, deliberately, a small woman with dark messy hair comes directly to the glass to meet them. The arc light in the center of her chest is rather unmistakable. Instead of a steady blue mechanical light, though, it is a pulsing, swirling mass. As though the reactor were a living thing.

 

“Is that…Toni Stark?” Peter asks, blinking rapidly. “The heiress? Why are we keeping Antonia Stark here?”

 

Peter meets her eyes and Toni begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. “Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,” she coos, dark eyes wide and wild. “Had a wife and couldn’t keep her! What would mommy think of her Peter?”

 

She is pretty, despite her madness and her surroundings, there is clear markers of the beautiful woman she was and still is, short and voluptuous, Toni has softly curled brown hair and velvet-brown eyes with enormous lashes, her mouth a full curve that twists easily into a smile and fingers covered in callouses and the scars of old burns.

 

“Her godfather gave her to us for treatment. She’s a Seer,” Ego says, closely examining her and the way she watches his son. The mention of Meredith, however vague, has made Peter go as still as a bird dog on point. “But it seems to have driven her up the wall. We were hoping for prophecy, but she gives us nothing but nonsense.”  

 

“Maybe Peter should learn to read and spell!” Toni laughs, the arc like a beacon in the heavy darkness of her cell. “Then you might love her well! Didn’t mommy ever teach you about the harpies and the trees, pumpkin eater? You might be dragged off into the night by the big bad wolf, little Peter! Ah, but that’s a different story…”

 

Ego says something about lunch and the not-Mantis girl leads him on to the cafeteria. Peter mumbles something about the restroom, but goes right back to the cell holding Toni.

 

“What were you trying to tell me?” he asks urgently, his face lit by the eerie blue of the arc light.

 

“Your mother was one of us,” Toni tells him, looking much more lucid now. “And your father coveted her powers.” Palms pressed to the glass, she whispers, “Careful, Pete, or you’ll wind up part of the collection.”

 

“But all of you are women,” he scoffs, and then repeats in horror “ _All of you are women_.”

 

“He wants to make a little god, small g,” she murmurs. “A little Zeus of his very own. Why start from scratch all over again when his half-blood Peter pumpkin eater can do the work for him? Luckily, he has no idea that the siren has picked you out as her mate, or you’d really be in deep then.”

 

“Wait – what?!”

 

Sing-song, she says “If only Peter could learn to read and spell, then he might be able to love her well!”

 

“Read and sp-…so, I should learn more about the siren and about how magic works?” he guesses, fidgeting nervously and looking over his shoulder down the corridor.

 

She shrugs. “Do what you like. After all, I’m just an  _animal_ , remember?” Brightening, she sings, “Oh, Peter! A wolf, a wolf, to catch a lamb.”

 

After quickly looking over his shoulder to see nothing there, Peter shakes his head at her, staring at her sadly, this pretty creature of madness and genius reduced to being held in a cage like a bear at the zoo. “I’m coming back,” he says, quietly, his hand pressed to hers on the glass. “I’m getting you out of here. I’m getting all of you out of here.”

 

Toni smiles at him then, not her crazed expression of amusement but this time a mischievous grin that almost looks like their own Tonys. “Oh, I’ll run off into the night, little Peter, but it won’t be you that lets me out.”

 

Peter frowns. “Is there someone coming to get you, Toni?”

 

“Just because I am leaving, doesn’t mean I’ll be rescued.” She laughs, twirling, and hums in her sweet voice, “A wolf, a wolf, a wolf! To catch a lamb, to catch a lamb – for his dinner.”

 

Bucky whispers, barely audible, “Oh my god.”

 

Peter says “They...wait, they’re going to hurt you?”

 

Pressed to the glass, Toni tells him, “He howls and growls to the snows, crying for his supper. And what will he find? A lamb all tied up for him.” Lower, she says “When he howls, Peter shouldn’t come running, because he is only a rabbit, and not a very filling meal.”

 

“I can’t just let them hurt you!” he argues. “Are you in danger?”

 

Again, she shrugs. “We’re all in danger here, Peter. Don’t spend your time on my predicament – you have something more important to do.”

 

Desperately, he asks “But will you live? If I let… _the_   _wolf_ …take you?”

 

“If you do not stop him, I will go,” she says, eyes distant, spine straightening. “If you do stop him, I will go… _in pieces_.”

 

The portal closes on Peter Quill’s horrified expression and half of the people in the room watching make sounds of displeasure and horror. “What happens to them?” Peter demands. “Bring it back, I want to know what happened to them!!”

 

“We can’t,” Laufeyson says, “It was the energy you created at the moment when your two existential universes began colliding in your connection. We can’t stop it, and we can’t make it happen again.”

 

Drax says “Can they not just bring it back by touching it again?”

 

“Yes and no,” Bruce says slowly. “That would open another portal but there’s no way to guarantee that it’s the same window into the same event.”

 

“The odds of that are as close to zero as humans are capable of comprehending,” Loki agrees firmly. “However, the rest of you need to be prepared – we will have to keep forcing the universes to briefly collide, which means the doors will keep opening.”

 

So that only he could hear, Bucky whispers “He killed you. Oh my god, I  _killed_  her.”

 

In the background, he distantly hears Mantis trying to awaken the other Drax.

 

_Did you see the lights, as they fell all around you?_   
_Did you hear the music of serenade from the stars?_   
_Wake up! Wake up! Wake up and look around you!_

 

“You don’t know that,” Tony says gently. “She told Peter if he didn’t interfere, the wo-the Winter Soldier would only capture her. You don’t  _know_  that he hurts her.”

 

“I know that she was virtually helpless, locked in there,” Bucky murmurs, miserable. “And someone has directed the soldier to capture her.”

 

“Buckaroo, that might be the best news she’s gotten in a while. She didn’t seem too broken up about it, at least,” he points out quietly. “Didn’t you hear them? She wasn’t captured like the others – Stane  _gave_  her to them, to let them do god knows what to her.”

 

While that did succeed in making him feel better, Bucky had to wonder…what else were they going to see here? He knew that Rogers wanted Barnes back with a desperation bordering on utter despair, but he was afraid of what was going to erupt when Barnes’ and Tony’s existences collided.

 

For that matter, what would happen with Steve and Maximoff were united? Or Natasha and Parker?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Drax, Mantis was playing "Serenade" by Steve Miller Band. 
> 
> I won't be closely describing the other Guardians because the level of detail I put into each world makes that kind of exhausting.


	10. dance with the devil part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Waltz No. 2" - Dmitri Shastakovich  
> "Wolf" - First Aid Kit

The Guardians, now with twice as many members and nearly all of them unconscious or close to it, leave EUTERPE’s floor to tend to them.

 

Despite Bucky’s dread, he knows that they will have to finish returning the rest of the foreign Avengers to their team. They can’t just leave them in the limbo of the Reality Stone.

 

Tony and Natasha allow Steve to begin with Maximoff first – they can both tell that waiting is only making him more anxious and Tony isn’t all that eager to see what happens when his mind and spirit is joined to Barnes’.

 

Though he is nervous, its more about Maximoff’s wellbeing than any concern for himself and what comes afterwards.

 

His Wanda chuckles with familiar joy as the waltz plays its merry tune – in Novi Grad, when she was a child, there was an old carousel that she and her brother rode every single Sunday after church. Its calliope tune was one young Wanda had quickly become enamored of.

 

But she hadn’t known the name of the song, and tore frantically through FRIDAY’s databases searching for that lost tune. _Otec_ eventually found it for her, getting her to hum a few bars into a search program that found exactly the song she’d been so desperate to hear again.  

 

 _Tat’ka_ gave her a specially made music box, made of wood and lined with maroon velvet, a stained glass picture of a rose set into the lid. She’d first thought it a meaningless trinket from a man with too much money, but music boxes were a very traditional gift for sons and daughters, and when she’d opened it, the box played the beloved song of her childhood.

 

“You remembered,” she murmurs to Steve.

 

“I’m not senile yet,” he teases.

 

Maximoff’s image flickers, her eyes opening at the cheerful, waltzing melody. The song never failed to make her feel some comfort, even after her parents died. Even when she lost her brother.

 

Honestly, if Maximoff’s spirit wouldn’t wake for this, she wouldn’t wake for anything at all.

 

And wake she did.

 

 _Wolf mother, where ya been?_  
You look so worn, so thin!  
You’re a taker, devil’s maker!  
Let me hear you sing, hey-ya hey-ya!

 _Wolf father, at the door._  
You don’t smile anymore.  
You’re a drifter, shapeshifter!  
Let me see you run, aye-yah aye-yah!

 

Maximoff begins forming at the shoulders, urged on by Steve’s encouragement. Vision, despite his weakness and unsteadiness, awaits his love.

 

 _Well I run through the deep dark forest_  
Long after this begun!  
When the sun would set  
And the trees were dead  
And the rivers were none!

 

He waited and was just on time to catch her body, fully formed into its physical shape, as she began to collapse forward.

 

The rest were all prepared now, for the portal. Or they thought they were prepared, anyway, which wasn’t quite the same thing.

 

The new portal window rocked side to side, the wind groaning around them as the interior of the ship bobbed upon the sea.

 

Wanda, around the same age she is now and wearing a dark outfit of blue and purple with a high collar, a lovely scarf of colored silk around her neck. She sits at a table in front of a large chalkboard, covered in maps and posters.

 

Clint murmurs, “What’s with you and video games, Steve?”

 

“Huh?” Steve asks, still panting from the release of energy required to build Maximoff back up from literal thin air. Luckily, the upside of being a super soldier is that he’s merely winded rather than on the verge of fainting, like Mantis had.

 

“Just wait for it.”

 

Oddly, Tony sat across from Wanda, rather than Steve. Like Wanda, he looked about the same age but also wore a suit of dark cloth, and like her, it was strange and rather old-fashioned looking. With a nib-tip pen and black ink, Tony writes in a journal with thick yellow pages. “Are you ready, Your Highness?”

 

Smiling a bit ruefully, she says “Anton, I’ve known you since I was eight. I think Emily will do just fine. Lady Emily, if that’s difficult.”

 

Across the room, Barton says “Ohhhhh…”

 

“We are conducting an interview,” he points out, though his mouth also tilts upwards. “Of course I will not be mentioning Your Majesty directly by name or through any other personal details.”

 

Amused, Wanda – Emily – says, “That might be rather difficult, Anton.” Flexes her left hand in her lap, a strange black mark like a starburst upon the back. “Many of the details – particularly surrounding my father – will make my identity clear.”

 

She gestures to a wanted poster upon the wall, a picture of Bucky on it. Only it doesn’t name him as Bucky Barnes, or even the Winter Soldier.

 

WANTED:  
CORVO ATTANO

For the Murder of Our Fair Empress Jessamine Kaldwin

 **30,000 GOLD COINS**  
For Capture or Death

 

“Yes,” Sokolov says slowly. “Your father was also touched by the dark god.”

 

Emily looks visibly uncomfortable and her next words make the reason clear. “I wish people wouldn’t say it that way,” she says, shifting in her seat. “It makes him sound like a common pervert and it makes me sound like some helpless innocent.”

 

“How would you phrase it?” he asks, ready to add more to his notes.

 

She shrugs. “He calls us his ‘Chosen’.” Thoughtfully looking down at the mark on the back of her hand, she says “I think there are only…perhaps five of us in the world, now.”

 

“Is he here now?” There was an eagerness in Sokolov’s voice.

 

She looks puzzled, brows furrowed. “I…don’t think I understand the question. He’s everywhere, Anton, all the time. There’s nowhere he can’t see, you know that. Almost nowhere,” she immediately corrects herself. “Delilah’s painting existed outside of…anywhere. Certainly outside of this plane.”

 

“I mean,” he says, clearing his throat a little. “Is his physical form in the room with us right now?”

 

“No,” Emily answers, still confused. “Why would I be having this conversation with you while pretending he isn’t here?”

 

“Because your father did it all the time.”

 

Wanda – Emily – jumps a little in her seat, starting as Steve appears behind her at her right shoulder.

 

Or he was a being that looked like Steve, and sounded like Steve. But he was unmistakably _not_ Steve.

 

Slender and pale in a set of black clothes that framed his throat, his narrow features should’ve looked fragile and delicate. Instead, despite his appearance of youth, he looks alien, ancient, and dark, staring at Emily and Anton with the whiteless eyes of a seal, two pools of ink staring forward beyond any human’s comprehension.

 

“He’s here now, isn’t he?” Anton breathes, following Emily’s gaze, though it’s clear he sees nothing more than empty air. “He’s come hasn’t he, milady?”

 

“Hello, old friend,” she says, making the scientist gape at her.

 

“We meet again, Your Majesty,” he agrees, his deep voice a bored monotone that held a strange watery echo in his words. His use of her proper title sounded almost sarcastic, but Emily is undaunted. He prowls behind her, the lazy loping walk of a cougar that hunts a limping deer, a sight even more alien on Steve than those oil-slick eyes. “Corvo was viewed as a madman because he often talked to himself – or so they thought. I’ve long suspected that Sokolov knew it was me he spoke to, but Corvo refused to admit knowledge of me, not even to Anton Sokolov.”

 

“Why?” she asks, glancing between Sokolov and the being who was not Steve.

 

Brow raised, his tone does not waver from its attitude of dismissive boredom. “The Abbey would not have a kind view of the Lord Protector being a heretic, Highness.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” she agrees, flexing her left hand again. Gesturing to the journal, already marked with Sokolov’s notes, she says, “Are you bothered by me doing this, Outsider?”

 

He blinks slowly, the only sign of the Outsider’s surprise. “Even now, you continue to surprise me. No, I suppose I don’t mind, Empress.”

 

Indeed, he sounds almost amused. Or as amused as he ever sounds. His address of her still sounds slightly sarcastic, but Emily is either accustomed or resigned to it.

 

Finally addressing Sokolov, the Empress folds her hands in her lap, spine straight and says, “What would you like to know, Anton?”

 

“How-how long have you been able to see him? Speak with him?” he asks, with the contained excitement of someone who is only both an artist and a scientist could manage.

 

“Nearly forever. And not long at all,” she says blithely, with a strange smile. “Those are separate questions, Anton.”

 

The Outsider paces their table in a circle, a shark circling blood-soaked waters.

 

Dryly, Sokolov taps the paper and says, “In your own time, Lady Emily.”

 

“I’ve _seen_ him since I was a child. Since…shortly after I saw my mother die,” she admits, with the quiet of someone suppressing an old pain. “He would be there in my dreams – like a guardian or a watcher. Even at the Hound Pits, though now I know that was hardly any safer than the Golden Cat.”

 

Staring at her, Sokolov says “Highness, I think you are the only person who could make that sound like a comfort rather than a nightmare.”

 

“I’d already seen my mother die,” she reminds him softly. “And they’d told me that Corvo was also dead. To a little girl the worst had already happened, there was little that I could see from the edge of the Void that would disturb me more than that.” With a glancing at the idling god, she adds “And he _was_ a comfort, when my father couldn’t be there, either due to obligation or misfortune.”

 

The Outsider, watching her with his usual countenance of bland curiosity, shakes his head slightly – disbelief, rather than denial. Emily is certain The Outsider does not believe himself to any kind of comfort, to anyone. An obsession, in some cases. A fear, for others. Never a source of solace.

 

“He departed when Corvo was able to secure my position as Empress,” Emily continues, pointedly ignoring him. “But returned after Delilah usurped me. Then he appeared even during waking hours and spoke to me after I agreed to take his mark.”

 

“Agreed?” Sokolov asks, surprised. “He allows you to refuse his gift?”

 

“There’s a lot of theories about the Void and the Outsider. But there’s a basic misunderstanding about him that I need you to know, Anton.” Emily has a mulish and slightly angry expression that is familiar to all of them. “Being Chosen by him doesn’t really change anything about you. Just like before you get it, everything that happens is your own choice. The Abbey would never like me to say this – they’re almost entirely devoted to viewing him as the source of all evil – but he’s quite devoted to the idea of free will. _Choose_ to take the mark, or not. _Choose_ to use his gifts, or not. _Choose_ to hurt people, or not. _Choose_ to cause harm, or not.”

 

“So,” Anton persists, writing her words furiously. “You don’t feel that he encourages destructive behaviors?”

 

She glances to the Outsider, who raises his brow at her again and continues to say nothing. Again, he seems as close to amused as he is capable of expressing. Reluctantly, she says, “If I tell you, my friend, you are going to think I’m mad.”

 

Sokolov, dark eyes somber in his slightly weathered face, says, “There is very little you can tell me that will truly shock me, Emily. In fact, I’m rather hoping that you will. Say what you please.”

 

More hesitantly than ever, the Empress looks at her mysterious friend, and says, “Do you know why he selected me? Selected Father? Delilah? Daud, who killed my mother? Vera Moray? I believe that he has been searching for goodness, not just greatness. I meant what I said before – he places a high value on free will, and will do nothing to sway you one way or another. But I also believe that he prefers a virtuous action over one made in vice.”

 

“And what has led you to that conclusion?” Sokolov asks her, both fascinated and as she said, clearly thinking that Emily is insane.

 

“You should see the contempt he has for base wants,” she says, mouth twisted in something that is neither a smile nor a grimace. “Nothing disgusts him more than pettiness, greed, and violence.” Growing more comfortable with this discussion, Emily sighs, “He often stops speaking to us, do you know that? The people he Chooses, he will abandon as quickly as he marked them.”

 

The Outsider watches her with the chilling gaze of a scientist examining a strange new species at the zoo.

 

Quietly, Emily says “And I think that’s because they succumb to the temptation to use their powers…unjustly.”

 

“That is…an interesting theory,” Sokolov says slowly, both brows joined together in confusion, a somewhat disturbed air coming over him.

 

At his expression, she quickly says, “Daud was a skilled fighter, with a keen gift for strategy – he could’ve been a general or a lord or any great numb of other things. But he used his powers to kill people for money. Delilah, for all her wickedness, could’ve been someone truly great. She was clever, talented, and committed. But she wanted to be _worshiped_ , not just respected or loved. He…I’m not entirely sure he feels emotions the way we do, but I think he truly hated her, in the end.”

 

“That does imply that he feels emotions,” Sokolov points out quietly.

 

For a long time, Emily is silent. Finally, she murmurs, “In his way, he does. I think he felt something like respect for Mother. He’s fond of Father, perhaps even loves him after a fashion. He…loves me, I think.

 

Softly, now more alert, the Outsider says, “I’m not certain of the wisdom of this, Your Majesty.”

 

Though Sokolov is staring at her in absolute disbelief, his face full of genuine shock and awe, Emily’s face is turned towards the Outsider. Looking directly into that oil-black stare, she whispers “I _choose_ to believe that you love me.”

 

Suddenly, the whole scene pauses, and everyone thinks that the portal is about to close.

 

Until they realize that the Outsider is literally walking right up to it.

 

And then right through it.

 

“He…he just…” Anthony breathes in horrified fascination.

 

“You so often seem to meddle in places you shouldn’t, don’t you, Sokolov? Ah, I see. Forgive me – _Mister Stark_ ,” the dark god corrects dryly. “Hm…it seems I may have just drawn the short stick. You're much more interesting than the other one.”

 

Over Anthony’s shoulder, the Outsider glances up and meets James’ eyes. “Steve,” he whispers, small and sad. “What happened to you?”

 

His face really does seem to soften then. “Dear Corvo,” he says, gazing not _at_ him, but _through_ him. “It seems that there are fates neither of us can ever truly escape.”

 

“What do you mean?” Steven demands. “What fate?”

 

“To be used as a tool, a weapon wielded only by cowards and despots,” the Outsider murmurs, giving Bucky a chill. “A protector, if you can survive that.”

 

Quietly, Bucky says “And what was your fate, Outsider?”

 

With a tilt of his head, the god gazes into Steven’s face, of a height with him in this smaller form. “An unwitting sacrifice to a higher power.” He smiles, revealing rows of teeth sharpened into points. “But they won’t know what they’ve made, will they? Not until it’s too late.”

 

And just as quickly as he came, the Outsider vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I have a chapter that just a Dishonored AU and no regrets. I literally have dozens of weird universe idea things like this I might add as a separate story/stories to the series so let me know what you think of that! 
> 
> Skinny Steve as a Dark God is basically my desired aesthetic, okay?


	11. dance with the devil part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cossack Lullaby" - this is a folk song, but I'm thinking of the Natalia Faustova version here  
> "Human" - The Killers

Natasha meets Tony’s eyes and knows that she will have to go first. She understands why, of course – but it won’t help, won’t make any kind of difference how long he puts it off.

 

Still, she thinks, standing across from Parker, his lids laying across his cheeks. She understands the impulse. This is the boy who calls her ‘Mom’, because he can’t manage to stop himself. This is the boy she taught to samba and to waltz, just because he thought it was fun. This is the boy she taught to fight, because she wanted him to live.

 

Outwardly calm, she places a palm upon the console and almost immediately, the hair upon the back of her neck stands up.

 

She does not know why she knows it, or even _how_ , since she’d never heard it until this moment, but that is her mother’s voice. She can feel it, from the roots of her hair to the ends of her fingers, this is the woman who gave birth to her.

 

Romanov and Natalia, tensed and chalky across the room, know it too.

 

Natasha is using her mother’s voice to call him.

 

Because EUTERPE was instructed to translate the words, while in Russian, are displayed in English for all the others to understand.

 

 _Sleep, my beautiful baby_  
Lullaby-a-bye  
Quietly the moon looks down  
Into your cradle  
I will tell you stories,  
I will sing you songs,  
Sleep on, close your eyes,  
Lullaby-a-bye

 _The Terek runs over its rocky bed_  
And splashes its dark waves,  
A sly brigand crawls across the bank  
Sharpening his dagger,  
But your father is an old warrior  
Hardened in battle,  
So sleep easy, my darling,  
Lullaby-a-bye

 _The time will come, you will learn for yourself_  
The soldier’s way of life,  
Boldly, you will place your foot in the stirrup  
And gasp your rifle.  
Your fighting saddle I will  
Embroider with silk  
Sleep my darling child  
Lullaby-a-bye

 _Such a fine warrior you’ll be to look at,_  
And a Cossack in your soul!  
I will watch you leave, see you on your way,  
And you’ll wave your hand.  
How many bitter tears  
I will weep when you go!  
Sleep my angel, sweetly, softly,  
Lullaby-a-bye

 

The room, stunned, holds it’s breath in silence.

 

Peter, out of the corner of her visions, rubs his eyes and Natasha fixes her gaze on Parker across from her.

 

She would’ve liked to convey this sentiment to the child it was meant for rather than this odd secondhand message, but it was conveyed nonetheless.

 

 _I did my best to notice_  
When the call came down the line  
Up to the platform of surrender  
I was brought but I was kind

 

Parker eyes open, fixing on her. Red light around him swirls as he struggles to hold his conscious open and gather his physical body.

 

 _And sometimes I get nervous,_  
When I see an open door  
Close your eyes, clear your heart  
Cut the cord…

_Are we human?  
Or are we dancer?_

 

 _Yes_ , she thinks, concentrating fiercely. She can feel sweat rolling down her lower back and she knows instinctively that if she wavers now, he won’t make it. _Yes, I’m here. It’s me. Mom is here, Petrushka_.

 

 _And so long to devotion…_  
You taught me everything I know!  
Wave goodbye, wish me well!  
You’ve gotta let me go!

 

Slowly but surely, the skin of Parker’s back, his cheek, his hands beginning forming in front of her, even as her breath comes harder and her vision blurs.

 

Natasha is barely conscious when the music stops, stepping back and nearly falling. She is not enhanced, but Peter is one of the hardiest of that group and it’s frankly an incredible testament to her will that she’s even still standing.

 

From close beside her, she hears Peter whisper under his breath “I love you, too, Mom,” as he gently catches her hands and lets her drag herself away from the console.

 

“Did it work?” she slurs, squeezing his forearms, staggering. The room is blurry and dim around her, a roaring sound filling her ears.

 

“Yeah, it worked,” he answers, and though she cannot see his wide-eyed expression as Peter stares across the platform into his own motionless face, laying in Stark’s arms, she can hear it in his voice.

 

Natasha never replies – her body begins listing heavily to the right and Peter quickly hauls her upright and deposits her into the arms of the nearest waiting dad – in this case, Bucky.

 

They all jerk their heads up to look when they hear the sound of Natasha’s voice, but her lips clearly aren’t moving.

 

“Hurry, Peter, hurry!”

 

Though not much different looking than the two boys now in the room, Peter is dressed in a strange blue and silver coat with a sword and leather belt strapped over it. The length of the sleeves and hem should make it ridiculous but there was a certain sheen to it that left everyone suspecting the garment was not designed for fashion. Particularly as there was a bandoleer strapped across his chest, with seven compartments attached to it.

 

And in front of him ran a little cat with pure white fur and a heavy red leather collar, the bell at its center ringing a deep commanding tone, and it yells with Natasha’s husky voice, “The river, keep running!”

 

The river was far below the rocky cliffs which they ran parallel to, sluggishly crawling through the ravine. The sun was a burning orange disk as it slowly sank past the hills behind them, a sight that Peter gazed over his shoulder at with increasing anxiety. “Natasha, it’s nearly nightfall…”

 

“Yes, and if you’d like to see the sunrise in the morning, you will Keep. Moving,” the cat hisses fiercely.

 

Off in the distance, farther back in the valley, the sweet trilling sound of a wind instrument echoed off the rocks of the canyon. “Wanda has…has the panpipes,” Peter says hopefully. “Natasha, maybe…”

 

“She may very well put down the Dead Hands, but she cannot defeat the one who hunts you, not with that toy,” Natasha answers sternly. “Tony entrusted you to this position. Why didn’t you read _the Book of the Dead_ , Peter?”

 

“I’m-I’m scared,” Peter chokes, glancing over his shoulder again. “Natasha, I’m-I’m scared of Death. I don’t think I’m the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. But it- _they_ won’t leave me alone! I tried to leave the bells in the palace, but they followed me here!” He chokes again, stumbling as the forest become increasingly difficult to navigate. “I don’t want her to kill me, Natasha.”

 

Even Romanov feels herself be moved by the plaintive, helpless tone of his voice.

 

“Listen to me,” she says, abruptly stopping as the canyon begins sloping down sharply toward the bottom of the ravine. Even within the growing darkness, her eyes sparkled with tiny green fires. “Wanda may not be able to save you from her, but she should be able to hold off her Hands long enough for us to reach the river.”

 

 _Her_? Thought Peter. _I’ve never fought a lady before_.

 

“I’m not leaving her and the Dog to die!” he cries, anguished.

 

“She and that mongrel can take care of themselves,” Natasha says with a touch derision in her voice. “I have every certainty she can put down twenty Hands herself – they’re not even Shadow Hands. Jacquetta isn’t seeking them, Peter – she’s come for you. _You_ are Tony’s apprentice, and _you_ are the one she wants.”

 

“J-Jacquetta, is that her name?”

 

Jacquetta? Who the hell was that?

 

Often in the distance, a raw wailing scream echoed through the tall stands of trees, followed by the trilling sound of the panpipes. That seems to spur Peter on faster.

 

“It’s one of them,” she replies grimly. “Though I doubt it’s one known by her present master.”

  
“Master?”

 

“Much like yourself, Jacquetta made foolish, poor decisions,” the cat says, with a note of real anger in her words. “She did not like the path set before her and decided to veer from it – it cost her quite dearly, and now Jacquetta’s will is not her own. She serves the will of whichever master has found her – hnnngk!”

 

Natasha chokes, cutting herself with a frustrated growl, the words seemingly squeezed off from the middle of the sentence, as though a giant invisible hand had closed around her neck.

 

“Natasha?” Peter pants, alarmed. “What was that?”

 

Calmly, she says “It seems that Jacquetta’s master has prevented me from – mmrrr – from discussing the terms of her – ssss – her _contract_.”

 

The sharp downward slope of the cliff slows down Peter’s progress. The light is fading rapidly, and he is clearly trying not to fall and break his leg. “Does that mean that she’s like you?” He gestures to her – no, to the collar. “Is Jacquetta a Free Magic creature, that’s held to obedience?”

 

“I am the servant of the Abhorsen,” she says calmly. “No matter how many times the collar is removed or replaced, any time I am held to its spell, I am in service to the House of the Abhorsen. Jacquetta is bound to any who – hnng – any who fulfills the terms of her contract.”

 

“How do you know all this, Natasha?” They have finally made it to the banks of the river, but Peter stares at it bleakly. The water is still sluggish and lazy, barely deep enough to go past the ankles.

 

“I knew Jacquetta in her original life, when she was an A-ahggg! – before she was committed to servitude. She was called ‘Bucky’, back then, but I doubt there is any alive who would recognize her by that name.”

 

A shudder runs through both Bucky and James at that, as they realize that _they_ are the ones hunting for Peter. Or rather, She is.

 

The cat uses a nearby rock as a springboard to leap up onto Peter’s shoulder. Judging from his expression, she does that a lot. In his ear, she says, “You are going to need to walk through the river until we find deeper water. This will barely slow her at all. Perhaps that will allow Wanda and the Horrible Hound to catch up with us before we’re murdered.”

 

“Yes…right…”

 

They can hear and see figures moving through the tree, shapes that drag themselves through the vegetation, moaning low and gravelly with deep, primal hunger, the desire to live beyond their rotting flesh. Their desire for the strong pulse of life radiating from that boy.

 

The sun is nearly gone and with it, the last of Peter’s apparent safety.

 

From the opposite side of the bank the pair came from, a dog, a black-and-tan hound standing fierce and alert, barks for their attention. “Dog!”

 

“We’ve found deep water, up ahead!” the dog says in Clint’s voice. “Hurry, Peter – the sun is gone and she’s gaining on you fast!”

 

“Faster than you’d believe,” a cool voice says from behind him.

 

Jacquetta – this world’s Bucky, it seemed – was every bit the beauty that male Bucky was, both terrible and fierce in her good looks, with a dark mane of hair that nearly reached her knees and was so thick it was almost more accurate to describe it as a pelt. Small braids ran through the mass, tied off with beads, charms and even tiny chimes. Her pale eyes were lined with kohl, and her left hand was made of a silvered metal, the red star at the top of her shoulder made of a dull crystal. Even looking at it made them all queasy.

 

She looked like a wild, cruel thing and there were less than six people left in the room that didn’t want her right then.

 

Opening her mouth to speak reveals a white flame flickering inside the back of her throat, white smoke drifting up from her mouth in the cool night air. “Come, Prince Peter,” she rasps, with a voice that sounds like a can of nails being shaken. Like Bucky often sounded in his first few months of recovery. “Come now and I shall let your sweet little friend live.”

 

With a cry, Peter turns and flees, the water splashing wildly as he runs from the terrifying specter beckoning him on the shore.

 

“Wherever you run, I will find you!” she growls at his fleeing back. Her first step into the river makes a cloud of steam hiss of the surface of the water, the chimes ringing as she steps down.

 

Peter gags as the smell of molten hot metal, the reek of Free Magic, hits him and struggles to cover his nose and mouth.

 

Clint – The Dog – runs beside him on the higher bank, calling “This way, hurry! She’s – by the Charter!”

 

At his shoulder, Natasha hisses “She is boiling the river dry! At this rate, it won’t matter if you reach the inlet!”

 

“You can’t run forever!” Jacquetta yells at his back, sounding quite calm.

 

On the bank, Clint growls, baring unnaturally long teeth at her, fur standing straight up. “Jacquetta, you’re gonna go for a _WALK_ ”

 

The word ‘ _walk’_ is infused with a loud bark, a harsh tone that sounds throughout the ravine, creating a marching tune that echo from every corner. Immediately Jacquetta claps both hands over her ears, attempting to block the noise, but it’s too late and her thighs tremble as she tries to fight it, stumbling as she turns around on her shaking legs.

 

Natasha growls “Quick, Peter! Tear the chimes off her hair!”

 

“What?!”

 

“The chimes! The tone – tnnnnah! – Ripe. Off. The. Chimes!” Natasha bites out.

 

Even as scared as he is, Peter is still Peter.

 

He throws himself on Jacquetta’s back, gripping her hair hard like the mane of a horse with one hand and frantically ripping off pieces of it with the other. Snarling she tries to reach behind and claw at Peter’s face, shrieking with fury and anguish when Natasha leaps from his shoulder to dig all ten of her front claws into her hand, sinking her teeth into her flesh and holding on for all she’s worth, distracting her for even a moment longer to buy Peter the time to finish his task.

 

It’s a chaotic mess of motion and yelling, the steam boiling off the water at Jacquetta’s presence, pieces of hair flying through the air as Peter tries to tear off all seven of the chimes, and over it all the furious yowling of Natasha the cat.

 

It’s not a huge surprise that all three of them crash down into the shallow water.

 

But it sure is frustrating when the portal closes immediately afterwards.

 

“Get the fuck up there!” Clint snaps at Tony. “I want a good ending for one of these goddamn people!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone whose read 'to live with thee' already knows what a deep affection I hold for the Old Kingdom series and should probably have expected this to happen.
> 
> (I especially love the audio series because it's read by Tim Curry, and I guess dreams do really come true :D).
> 
> Also: Mogget is a joy forever, I will not hear otherwise.


	12. dance with the devil part iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Who Loves You?" - The Four Seasons  
> "Come As You Are" - Prep School  
> "Suurin" - Kati Ran
> 
> In other news:  
> Y'all the Russos did my girl so fucking dirty.

“Uh, can I just have a second?” Tony mutters, glancing over at Bucky and then quickly away. “I need to talk to Bu-Barnes - my Barnes - for a minute. Alone.”

 

Stark finds it a little odd that Tony is willing to be with Bucky at all, never mind asking to be alone with him, but he still gets his team to follow him outside.

 

Steve stares a moment before giving a little nod and following them out, Natasha still in his arms. Bruce ushers out their younger counterparts. Even both Lokis and both Thors exit the room, until they are completely alone.

 

The door has barely closed before Tony is kissing him, Bucky obliging him by leaning down to meet his mouth. “I’m not complaining, this is not a complaint,” he murmurs, draping a heavy arm around Tony’s shoulders. “But we do have a bit of an agenda to work on here.”

 

Taking Bucky’s hand, Tony leads him back to EUTERPE. “I’m about to open up another house of horrors.” Neither of them mention the fact that the combination of Tony and Barnes will probably create the most horrifying situation of them all. Thus far the scenes have been ambiguous at best, but despite Clint’s hopes, there isn’t likely to be a happy ending to this, either. “I don’t…I don’t want this to be the way I know you.”

 

It’s a euphemism, but he knows what Tony means. “Of course. _Of course_ baby.”

 

He cries, laughs into his mouth, sobbing against his lips as Bucky’s soul professes it devotion to him. “Every word, sweetheart. I mean every word…”

 

 _Who loves you, pretty baby?_  
_Whose gonna help you through the night?_  
 _Who loves you, pretty mama?_  
 _Whose always there to make it right?_

 

“Shh, it’s okay. You aren’t going to lose me.” Because of course he knew what was at the heart of this reaction. “We aren’t going anywhere, Tony.”

 

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispers. “I don’t want to see whatever happens.”

 

“I think they need him,” Bucky whispers back, stroking his cheek. “I think they’re like us, Tony, and they just _don’t know it_. They need to have all six or I’m not sure they’re going to manage real happiness ever again.”

 

“I know that, Bucky. I goddamn know it.”

 

 _When tears are in your eyes and_  
_You can’t find the way_  
 _It’s hard to make believe_  
 _You’re happy when you’re gray_  
 _Baby, when you’re feelin’ like_  
 _You’ll never see the morning light_  
 _Come to me,_  
 _Baby, you’ll see._

 

“I’ve never been good at this part, but you need to hear it, and I need to say it. I love you, James.”

 

“Now you’re making me cry,” Bucky mutters, but won’t let Tony go. “I love you, too, sweetheart. So much.”

 

They can’t bring themselves to move away from each other, even after the room is quiet. But the clock is ticking, so Tony asks, “Do I look like I’ve been crying?”

 

“Not anymore, no. But Rogers will know we’ve been really close to each other, even if he won’t understand why.” Bucky says wryly. “You’re covered in my scent, and I’m covered in yours. Do you know what you plan to say if your song comes out…I dunno, _Love Me Tender_?”

 

“Yep – deny, deny, deny.” At Bucky’s raised eyebrows, Tony sighs and says, “If Natasha and Clint taught me anything about undercover ops, it’s that it’s easy to make people believe what you say when they don’t want to see the truth, even when it stares them right in the face. Stark especially will take whatever bullshit excuse I make because he isn’t ready to accept what’s in front of him.”

 

Bucky smiles, giving him a sly sideways look. “I’m not sure I like you spending this much time getting their ops advice. You’re enough trouble on your own.”

 

“You like trouble,” Tony says, before licking a stripe up his neck. Bucky groans and tries to reach for his crotch. Dodging his grip, he laughs at him quietly. “Save that thought for later, Buckaroo.”

 

“Oh, giddy-up, Tony,” Bucky says, squeezing his ass through his tight jeans. In Tony’s ear, he whispers “You’re gonna saddle me up and take me for ride later.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters, adjusting himself under Bucky’s hungry stare. “Get the others in here before I rip your pants off and ride you on this couch.”

 

“Not a great motivator, Tony. I’m not hearing a downside.”

 

“Go, _James_.”

 

Tipping an invisible hat – fuck, now he’s actually thinking about Bucky in full chaps and boots, _oh god why is this his life and why did it take him almost fifty years to get here?!_ – Bucky leans into the hall to bring the others back.

 

By Clint’s large grin, he can tell that the archer suspects exactly what’s happened. _Tonight, I’m gonna throw that sonofabitch on a flat surface and ride his dick until his eyes roll back and he drools, that’s what fucking happened, Clint_.

 

“Okay,” Tony says loudly, hoping that no one else will notice that he really wants to raw Bucky on the sofa instead of this cross-dimensional bullshit. “We’re ready to go now. Let’s get this over with.”

 

Loki, with the blank face of someone who knows more than they’d like to, says “Very well. In three…two…one…”

 

 _Come as you are,_  
_As you were,_  
 _As I want you to be._  
 _As a friend,_  
 _As a friend,_  
 _As a known enemy…_

 

It’s a Nirvana song, but that definitely isn’t Kurt Cobain – if Steve has a thing about video games, Bucky has a thing about covers, apparently.

 

He shouldn’t have done this while thinking about fucking _his_ Bucky Barnes.

 

Images begin forming around the room, slow with the tempo of the music and Tony sweats because holy shit, he recognizes this and if this is what he thinks it is, there’s no amount of talking he can do that will prevent them from discovering their secret.

 

 _Take your time,_  
_Hurry up,_  
 _The choice is yours,_  
 _Don’t be late…_

 

The flickering form of Bucky stalks through the kitchen of Bruce’s old apartment, prowling like a predator.

 

Tony hides on the other side of the island counter, hand covering his mouth to muffle his breathing.

 

Behind him, he hears Rogers say, confused, “This never happened…did it?”

 

And Stark mutters “No, it didn’t.”

 

Bucky’s face is strange to Rogers – a grin of savage, hungry glee.

 

Tony can see Bucky’s lips move, already knows the words his mouth will form. “ _There you are, my lamb_.”

 

And the...memory? Conjured fragment of time? The Tony of the past tries to crouch and sneak down the hall as Bucky’s back is turned.

 

 _And I swear that I don’t have a gun_  
_No, I don’t have a gun_  
 _No, I don’t have a gun_  
 _No, I don’t have a gun_  
 _**No, I don’t have a gun**_

 

The moment the music crescendos, Bucky leaps over the island with a roar, Tony’s mouth opening in a scream as his teeth close on the back of his neck.

 

They fall to the floor and their bodies turn into a shower of golden sparks and Tony feels nearly sick with relief. That moment was beautiful and it was theirs, not something to be stared at with hate and disgust.

 

He can’t see Stark’s disgusted stare, that Tony is now friends with a man who attacked him like an animal, bit him in the neck like a lion hunting a gazelle. He’ll never have to know that they rolled around on the floor, grinding and kissing frantically before Bucky blew him like a man experiencing the rapture.

 

But he holds onto it, holds on to that moment of excited, heart-stopping fear and blazing hunger. Barnes is no longer hard to see – he is nearly solid, but still made of red light, his gaze directed completely at Tony.

 

There is a sound of drums, and Tony hears it as the beat of his heart, a driving, urgent thing.

 

The woman’s voice is a wailing cry, but strong. Powerful. Commanding.

 

 _Mie suusi suurin!_  
_(I am the greatest wolf!)_  
 _Mie suusi suurin!_  
 _(I am the greatest wolf!)_  
 _Suveks syömää!_  
 _(I shall feast in the summer!)_  
 _Muut lampaaks lautsan alle!_  
 _(All others shall cower like sheep!)_

 

Rogers hears Tony murmur “Yeah, you are” in a strange tone. The group gives a collective gasp as the room forms another three-dimensional image, a wolf the size of a small car loping through a forest covered in snow, feet hitting the packed surface to the beat of the drums.

 

_Mie suusi suurin!_   
_(I am the greatest wolf!)_   
_Mie karhu kankahalla!_   
_(I am the bear on the moorlands!)_   
_Miun veret pieälimmäisinä!_   
_(I shall have first blood!)_

 

Tony’s heart pounds, harder and harder with the effort to call forth Barnes into his physical body.

 

 _Come on, my wild one. Come and find me_ , Tony thinks, panting as his lungs tighten, heaving to keep supplying oxygen to his brain. But it’s getting difficult. _And then you’ll feast. But you’ll have to run me down first._

 

_Mie suusi suurin!_   
_(I am the greatest wolf!)_   
_Mie suusi suurin!_   
_(I am the greatest wolf!)_   
_Suveks syömään!_   
_(I shall feast in the summer!)_   
_Muut lauhtuoh lampahaksi!_   
_(The others shall become weak like sheep!)_

 

 _You can hear each beat, every breath_. Tony shudders, feeling the phantom press of teeth to the nape of his neck. _I’m a fresh lamb, all for you._

 

_Minä sudeksi!_   
_(I into a wolf!)_   
_Muut lampahiksi!_   
_(The others into sheep!)_   
_Mie suusi suurin_   
_(I am the greatest wolf!)_

 

His heart slams against his ribcage and Tony gasps at the sudden agonizing force of it. He isn’t even aware of how labored his breathing is, but he does know he has to lean on the console to stand now, practically draped over the black tower.

 

Clint mutters “Doc, I think we need to stop this.”

 

Bruce replies “I’m not certain that we should. Or can.”

 

A trickle of blood escapes his nose, a flow of wet warmth he can’t stop or control. His shirt is soaked with sweat and his blood pounds through his ears, blocking all sound except the eerie howling cry of a wolf, that seems to go on and on. His vision has darkened out until nothing is left but black.

 

 _Come find me, wild one. Find me_.

 

Rogers cries “BUCKY!” and Tony’s body begin to slide from the console.

 

“Shit – Bruce!” Bucky hisses, catching him around the waist. “Tony – oh god, Tony!”

 

Blood coats his mouth and chin, but Bucky can hear that his breathing and heartrate are steadily slowing now. Romanov is staring, but he doesn’t give a shit, running a hand down Tony’s face and using his own shirt to wipe off the blood.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Bruce says, examining him carefully. “He lost consciousness, but that’s to be expected – he’s the only ordinary human, and Barnes is not the least among the superhumans.”

 

A voice causes both of them to look up, an exasperated sigh that is both strange and familiar. “You know something, Rogers?”

 

The female Toni casually leans against the penthouse bar, arms folded. This version of her is a vision of health, dark hair shiny and sweeping down her back, her eyes clear and bright. The arc reactor glows as a radiant blue disk between her breasts, her tight black dress doing nothing to hide the wealth of curves beneath it.

 

And across from her is a woman in navy blue yoga pants who – all apologies to Brunnhilde – looks exactly like the image everyone has ever pictured whenever the word ‘Valkyrie’ is said. Large across the hips and chest, with lovely yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail, and looking faintly harassed, she says “Yes, Stark?”

 

“You’re a dumb bitch, but I appreciate that,” Toni says, matter-of-factly.

 

She splutters, outraged, and Steve finds himself suppressing a laugh. He’s a bit sad he’ll never get to meet this Toni, because after having bonded with his own, he has the feeling she’d be a lot of fun.

 

“Does this mean you’ll help me?” the blond amazon that is female Steve asks.

 

“Under one condition,” Toni agrees, and the other woman narrows her eyes. She leans forward, cleavage flashing precariously from her dress. “Let me dress you.”

 

“Toni,” she grumbles. “Why-”

 

“Stel-la,” Toni whines. “You are causing me _actual physical pain_.”

 

Stella glares daggers at her. “My clothes are perfectly appropriate.”

 

“It is now the year of our lord 2015, and we can have hemlines above the knee!” She faux gasps. “In fact, Stella, we can even get _jobs_!”

 

Visibly grinding her teeth, Stella says, “My mother was a nurse my entire childhood, Stark. This is not a shocking revelation.”

 

“How about that you have a body-” _WHAT a body_ , every version of her soulmates thought “-and it’s not something you should be ashamed of,” she says tartly. “How’s that for a revelation, Cap?”

 

Clenching her fists, and standing from her seat, Stella finally says “ _Dear god in heaven_ , if I say yes, will you help me and never talk about this again?”

 

“Yes to the first and maybe on the second.”

 

“Good enough. Romanov and Banner are running containment in the Hulk’s circle,” she says, as they board the elevator.

 

For the first time, Toni’s expression becomes more somber. “You should have called me earlier. Banner is better at theory and creation – I think we both know I’m the better conjurer – and Romanov is an illusionist, not a battlemage. He deals in parlor tricks and back alley knifing, not complex chains of spells.”

 

“What was I supposed to do?” Stella asks, annoyed. “I took me an hour to bring her in and she nearly killed me. Twice.”

 

Toni’s dark brows rose. “Barnes was an archer, not a sorcerer. She may have been amazing in 1945, but she isn’t as good as Barton is now. And Claire is the best, but she wouldn’t be able to take you out if you were playing to win. How did the Sarge manage that?”

 

“I’m…ah…not sure that she’s…she’s… _alive_ ,” Stella admits. “In the classical sense.”

 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you – did you just say that you brought an Undead being of unknown classification _into my house_?” Toni demands loudly, whirling out of the elevator to turn on her friend. “Because I could swear I just heard you say you brought an _unknown member of the Undead_ into my house, Stella!”

 

“Not quite,” a soft voice says, startling both of them. A woman in robes of royal purple stands at the mouth of a hall leading into a circular room, and her hair – brown, wildly curly, and pulled back in a messy tangle – immediately gives her identity as this world’s Bruce Banner. “I told the Captain that Sergeant Barnes seems to have the same empty consciousness that a freshly raised zombie does.”

 

“Which, of course, is impossible,” Stella says hastily. “If Bridget were a zombie, she would have rotted into a skeleton by now, and she can’t be freshly raised because she looks exactly the way she did seventy years ago.”

 

“So do you,” Toni points out dryly. Addressing the doctor, she asks “Bruna, what other untold horrors could this potentially be?”

 

Scratching idly at the mass of curls, Bruna replies “The best case scenario? She’s still a living person and was kept alive the same way Stella was, with spells placed over her that, I think, hold her will to…something? Someone? It’s not clear.”

 

“And the worst case?” Toni asks grimly.

 

“She has spells placed over her that hold her spirit to…some other entity’s will.”

 

“Uh-huh, and that would make her…?”

 

“A lich,” Bruna admits reluctantly and both Toni and Stella gasp audibly. “It’s the only Undead I can think of that would retain human-levels of intelligence, and at the same time explain Bridget’s ability to regenerate and spell-cast at this level.”

 

Toni runs a hectic hand over her face, clearly trying to comprehend this statement. “That wouldn’t explain why her body isn’t decaying. And enslaving a lich is…I honestly don’t think that’s possible. There’s no…Bruna, her spirit-! I don’t think there’s any human on earth that could bend that kind of force to obedience.”

 

“Come with me.”

 

Bruna leads them down the hallway, to a large circular room at least four stories tall, made of black marble and painted with strange symbols all over the walls. On the floor are more symbols – an ever-expanding circle of painted markings that encompass the entire surface of the floor in silver and gold, literally carved down into the marble.

 

Two people occupy this circle. Sitting cross-legged in the center of it is a stocky, compact man with hair so vividly red that this can only be the male version of Natasha, his back held perfectly straight and his eyes closed. From the middle of his chest, a strange rope of black and red energy extends out to attach to both wrists of a familiar looking woman.

 

She was not like Jacquetta any more than Bucky was like the Winter Soldier. Instead, Bridget is a sad shade, a pale chalky woman with long limp hair and dark shadows beneath her eyes, her left arm an odd creation of moving shadows, shambling steadily around the male Natasha with half-lidded eyes. If she’s aware that any of them are in the room, it doesn’t show.

 

Bruna looks sympathetic, Toni intrigued and curious, and Stella looks absolutely gutted at the sight of her. “Nikita,” she says, addressing the man a bit desperately. “Can’t you…can’t you just let her sleep?”

 

Nikita’s eyes open, training themselves on her, two glass-green slits that study her calmly. “She is sleeping,” he says, Nikita’s voice a shockingly resonant rumble that would be more suited to someone of Thor’s size than his own. Waving a hand at Bridget, he says “HYDRA-standard skills apparently include being able to sleep with both eyes open.”

 

For a moment, Stella looks visibly heartbroken, before quickly stowing away the expression and straightening her spine, her chin tilted at a stubbornly familiar angle. “Toni, please help me fix her.”

 

Toni stares at her. “Cap…Barnes is not a vintage Mustang. She’s…well, she’s still mostly human.”

 

“ _Mostly_ human?” she repeats, bemused.

 

“Mostly.” Bruna agrees, and then pauses. “I think.”

 

Sighing, Toni says “Show me, doc.”

 

Stepping back, Bruna says “I need her still for just a moment, Nikita.”

 

Casually, Nikita points at Bridget with his left hand. “Wake. Stop,” he says, bored, and she stills her pacing, though her eyes are still dull. He tightens his right hand into a fist. “Stay.”

 

With a fluid, graceful motion Bruna holds a glowing green hand out toward Bridget and sweeps the other hand in a long arc over her head.

 

Above them, a beautiful and strange constellation of lights appears, Toni studying it thoughtfully. “Hm,” she murmurs. “Yes, I see what you mean. God, she’s powerful. It’s amazing Nikita can tether her without vomiting or fainting or...I don't know, foaming at the mouth and speaking in tongues.”

 

“Practice makes perfect,” he drawls, watching the bizarre man-made twilight above him. “Most of it’s locked away, though. Whoever kept her – Pierce or whoever – preferred to have her declawed.”  

 

Leaning against the wall, Toni traces her lips thoughtfully with a finger. “Cap.”

 

Though it seems to pain her, Stella drags her eyes away from Bridget. “Yes?”

 

“The Sarge liked music, didn’t she? She enjoyed dancing?”

 

“Yes,” Stella says slowly. “She did. Why?”

 

Toni eyes rove over the giant expanding galaxy in front of her. “She spent time with an Austrian…no, a Swiss man right? Zola?”

 

“Her torturer,” Stella spits bitterly. “Yes.”

 

“And Pierce, her most recent master, was an American. And if Nikita is right, she was also with the Russians.”

 

“Oh, I see what you want.” Nikita laughs, showing sharp canines in a mean grin. He looks over his shoulder at Bridget. “ _Ulybka, krasivaya devushka.”_

_Smile, pretty girl._

 

Bridget blinks, her expression slowly morphing from empty to spiteful. “ _Yob tvoyu mat_ ,” she growls. “ _Mudak_.”

 

 _Go fuck your mother. Asshole_.

 

He laughs louder. “Ah, _volchitsa_. Still as charming as ever.”

 

Toni makes a motion with a flick of her wrist, like opening a book, and out of thin air, a simple chair appears, made of heavy wrought iron. She perches herself on the edge of the seat, and holds up her hand, palm up. The tips of her fingers glow a violent shade of maroon, reminiscent of dried blood.

 

“Toni, what are you doing?”

 

She doesn’t bother answering. Her fingers move, tiny strings of red light flickering from her hand. It reminds Wanda of her own magic, actually. “Hm, let’s think here,” she murmurs. “I think _Volare_ is a bit old fashioned for me, darling.”

 

Toni opens her mouth, voice pleasant but raspy as the tongue of a cat. “ _Una note a Napoli con la luna ed il mare, ho incontrato un angelo che non poteva piu volar_ …”

 

_A night in Naples with the moon and the sea, I have met an angel that could no longer fly…_

 

Bridget’s head turns slowly, as though hypnotized.

 

_“Una note a Napoli, delle stelle si scordo e anche senza ali, in cielo mi porto!”_

_A night in Naples, he forgot about the stars and even without wings, he took me to heaven!_

 

She walks forward, hips swaying almost as if dancing, gaze focused on only Toni.

 

“What is she doing?” Stella whispers, frozen in shock.

 

“Giving her a trigger,” Nikita murmurs, eyes narrowed. “A _positive_ trigger.”

 

“ _Quanto tempo puo durare? Quante notti da sognare_?” Toni sings softly, beckoning Bridget forward with the glowing tips of her fingers.

_How long can it last? How many nights to dream?_

 

She sinks to her knees in front of Toni, her silvery blue eyes reflecting the deep red light, her gaze haunted, fixated on her face.

 

“ _Una notte a Napoli con la luna ed il mare, ho incontrato un angelo che non poteva piu volar.”_

_One night in Naples with the moon and the sea, I met an angel who could no longer fly._

Toni lets her song die.

 

“ _Tu chi sei_?” Bridget asks, “… _padrona_?”

 

 _Who are you? …mistress_?

 

“ _Un amico_ ,” Toni says, with her usual flirtatious grin. “ _Forse la vostra_.”

 

_A friend. Maybe yours._

 

Slowly, cautiously, she reaches up to Bridget’s face, tilting her chin up so that she can see into her eyes. Her last words make an electric zing fire up Bucky’s spine, the echo of his soulmate in every cadence of her voice. “ _I tuoi occhi sono bella, tesoro_.”

 

 _You have beautiful eyes, darling_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toni's song was "Una Notte a Napoli" by Pink Martini
> 
> I have an internal rule that in every universe, Clint and Natasha are opposite genders. Steve shares the tendency to be Natasha's opposite, and Peter and Wanda are usually (but not always) opposites, too. Bruce is usually Tony's gender. Loki and Thor are almost always the same sex.
> 
> Bucky is a total wildcard - his gender is completely independent of the others, but he's often male, even when others are swapped. 
> 
> P.S. - genderswapped Steve and Thor are both plus-sized amazons. Fight me.


	13. libertango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to see Tony Stark lose his goddamn mind?

When the six of them go to bed that night, Bucky rolls over and whispers in Tony’s ear “Can you. Please.”

 

“Hm?” he murmurs, puzzled and sleepy.

 

“Do it again. Please. Like…like she did.”

 

“She…? Oh!”

 

Pleasant and raspy, the five of them listening to the darkness, to Tony murmuring as strokes Bucky’s hair, “ _Una notte a Napoli, con la luna ed il mare_ …”

\---

Even if he wanted to (and he isn’t completely sure that he does), Steven wouldn’t be able to forget seeing these strange, tragic shadows of Bucky – wild, wounded, and bent to a will beyond their own.

 

He also can’t stop thinking about the words of that other version of himself, the Outsider: _A weapon wielded only by cowards and despots. A protector, if you can survive that._

 

Was _every_ Bucky’s future truly that inescapable? Obviously here Bucky had made it to the second part of that fortune, somehow. But were they really _all_ destined down some path that would lead them to be broken on the wheel of fate?

 

All six of them were exhausted and most of them passed out as soon as their heads hit the pillow/blanket/shoulder of the nearest person beside them. The fact that they all dropped into the same bed without bothering to discuss it is something Steven isn’t going to examine closely just now. And he’s tired, but he’s worried, and he can’t stop thinking about something bad happening to _his_ Bucky.

 

“Stevie?” James slurs, blindly reaching for Steven. His hands catch a pair of narrow hips and because James was dreaming of blue eyes and a smile, he’s half-hard and his head is still in happy land. He cups the sharp angles, caressing over them, and thoughtlessly bends his head to smear his mouth across the wings of Steven’s collar bones.

 

Steven gasps, a soft “Oh Buck” that pulls James out of dreamland and straight into beautiful reality.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers, dragging Steven closer, gently biting at the thin skin and fragile bones. Steven’s hips jerk, a quiet moan escaping his mouth. “Please, Stevie…I wanna…”

 

“Yes,” he gasps immediately, slipping his arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t care what James wants, Steven’s ready to give it to him. Throwing his head back as James sucks on his jugular, he repeats in a rasped moan “ _Yes_.”

 

Part of James’ brain is frantic, howling at him to tear at all of Steven’s clothes and lick as much of him as he reach. The other part is sleepy and still doesn’t quite comprehend what’s happening, and the relaxed atmosphere of the room is giving the experience an almost dreamy quality.

 

He kisses his best friend, slow and silky, breaking away to sigh against his lips as Steven gropes for his ass. “Oh, Stevie. Whenever I’m about to fall asleep, I’ll be thinking of this mouth…” He traces his full lower lip. “Paradise…”

 

“Shut up, idiot,” Steven whispers, blushing furiously. “I already said you can do whatever you want, you don’t gotta sweet talk me.”

 

“What if I wanna do that, too?” James asks, slipping his fingers up the front of Steven’s shirt.

 

Steven stifles a whimper as James’ fingers, calloused after a life of labor and several months of learning to shoot a gun, rub against his chest and nipples, larger and warmer than his own hands. “Don’t,” he croaks, but even he can hear the plea, the helpless need in his voice. “ _Bucky_.”

 

“Shhh,” James whispers. “Just let me…let me…”

 

Steven has to take quick shallow breathes, trying to hide the whine in his breathing as James sucks his nipples through his shirt and failing when his tongue rubs against the fabric. “Please touch me, oh god, Bucky…”

 

Groaning, James pulls his shirt up to his chin, tonguing roughly at the stiff aching peaks as he slides his hand down Steven’s shorts. He tries to tell James he isn’t going to last, tries to warn him, but his head and his lungs are both empty. Steven isn’t completely sure that he came so much as passing out in the most pleasurable way possible.

 

He does know that James is licking Steven’s spunk off his hand when he becomes aware of himself. “Stop that, that’s disgusting.”

 

James shakes his head, burying his face in Steven’s neck. “You taste good,” he whispers, soft and dark as a secret hidden in the farthest corners, still fondling his chest lovingly. “You taste so good, Stevie.”

 

 _He’s jerking himself off_ , Steven realizes. _He’s going to come with my jizz in his mouth, groping me like a girl_.

 

Steven fumbles to keep his shirt lifted, blushing at his own daring, posing for James like a pin-up girl in some cheap eight-pager. In Steven’s opinion, the most disappointing eight-pager in the world.

 

James gapes at him, opened-mouthed, staring hungry and dumb at the vision in front of him. “You don’t know, god, you’d never know,” he mutters, pained, kissing all over his neck. “How much I need…”

 

Whatever he needs remains unidentified. James groans like a man whose been shot, a sticky warmth spilling over Steven’s concave belly that makes something pleasant squirm inside him. A sensation that only increases when James bends down to lick it off.

 

“Jesus, that was fucking amazing,” Anthony murmurs, throwing his now dirty shirt across the room.

 

They both jerk their heads to look at him. “How long have you been awake?” Steven demands.

 

“Dude, I came when you started showing off your tits – _very hot_ by the way.” Anthony grins. Steven wonders if he’s ever gonna quit blushing after tonight. “How the hell do you expect me to sleep when I have you on one side and them on the other?”

 

Immediately after ‘on the other’, FRIDAY abruptly speaks to the room. “Miss Romanova, you have already been warned that penetrative intercourse is off limits. If you do not cease in thirty seconds, I will be required to inform Sergeant Barnes and he will likely remove you from this floor permanently.”

 

On the other side of Anthony, Clinton is on top of Natalia and neither of them are wearing shirts. “He is…he is not inside me,” she gasps, throwing her head back, red hair spilling across the pillow. “…I only wish that he was!”

 

They watch, mesmerized, as he rolls his hips, the movement making her breasts quiver and flexing the muscles in his back and arms.

 

There is a ten second pause before FRIDAY says, “Do you swear on Soldat’s life?”

 

“Yes, yes, I swear!” she gulps, curling her fingers around Clinton’s biceps, as though Natalia fears that they will be physically separated. “I swear on his life I do not lie, please do not make him stop!”

 

“Very well.”

 

“How are you doing that?” James asks, hypnotized by the way Clinton’s ass flexes and moves as he makes thrusting motions on top of her.

 

Gritting his teeth, Clinton growls, “I…shit…I slipped my dick through the side of her panties.” Brushing her hair from her face, he fervently whispers, “And fuck, Natalia, you’re so wet it’s almost like the real goddamn thing…”

 

“Natasha,” she pleads, though it’s the name of a little girl – something she’s never ever been. “I’m Natasha. To you. For you.”

 

He hisses as her body produces a flood of slick for him, anticipating a coupling that will never happen, at least not in this universe. She can see the Archer in him, in his intense, focused stare and playful twist of his lips. “How about _Tasha_?”

\---

The next morning, Stark tells himself that he doesn’t care about whatever the fuck is going on in this world. He tells himself he doesn’t care that here this team looks like a real family. He tells himself he doesn’t care they are loving, affectionate, understanding with each other. He tells himself that this can’t be as good as it looks from the outside.

 

After all, Tony Stark is _friends_ with a man who once hunted him down and assaulted him like an animal, like a literal piece of meat – _and_ , Stark thinks, _my relationship to Barnes is fucked up, no doubt, but at least he fought me the way a man fights another man not the way a predator hunts its prey_. Tony Stark has divorced the one person who’s ever put up with him and his shit to sleep with his teammate while she cuckolds him with his other teammate.

 

He has his kid back – and _yeah_ , you know what? Fuck it. That’s what he is. That’s his kid. After hearing Bucky call Peter that, Stark feels like he should damn well be able to say it about Parker. He has his kid back, so now he can go home and leave behind this nightmare land of all his worst fears realized and his greatest hopes fulfilled.

 

But for some reason, he still finds himself walking up to Pepper’s office.

 

“Finally,” she says, relieved, and Stark blinks. “It’s rare I catch you on time for anything – I need a press date yesterday, Tony!”

 

 _Oh my god. She thinks I’m the other one. This could work for me. Let’s start digging._ “Uh, yeah, as soon as you can swing it, Pep. I’m ready to go.”

 

Pepper glances up from her paperwork. “Natasha has been cleared by the doctors?”

 

“Yep, healthy as a horse. Healthier, even.” What happened to Natasha? What does she have to do with him being ready for the press conference?

 

She gives him a soft, radiant smile. Stark wonders why that doesn’t make him feel happier. “I’m really glad you guys are doing this, Tony. None of you should have to hide in the shadows.”

 

Hide? What the hell? “It’s going to be a relief,” he agrees, clueless. What the fuck are these people doing? “Any material you think I should have prepped? For the press conference?”

 

Pepper answers quickly. “Obviously, Steve will start by giving his statement on the team’s retirement and we’ll pause for questions, probably just for him. I’m sure he’ll ask Carol to do an introduction of the New Avengers, and they’ll have questions for her on that as well. I’ll make sure that Vision, Scott, Hope, and Sam are prepped for that.”

 

“Right, of course,” Stark says blankly. _We’re retiring? Officially? TOGETHER_?

 

“Oh, um – please ask him tonight if I could possibly have him passing the shield over to Sam in front of the press. It will make for good publicity and Sam is already well-liked…” She bites her lip. “And it might make the second half of the announcement less…visible.”

 

Confused, he says “Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t have to hide?”

 

“Of course not, none of you should,” Pepper says immediately, flicking her hair away from her face in a nervous gesture. Earnestly, she says “Tony, I’m just…you know that I worry, okay? Six soulmates, Tony…there’s always going to be people who won’t accept that. Who have something to say that isn’t helpful or kind.”

 

Six…six…

 

Like lightning, the six faces of the young lady and gentlemen who traveled from the past into this universe flash before Stark’s eyes. In fact, the _only_ six brought back from the past.

 

James, twenty-four. Steven, twenty-three. Robert, twenty-one. Anthony, twenty. Clinton, nineteen. Natalia, seventeen.

 

Bucky flirting openly with Clint despite multiple reporters writing about him kissing Bruce in public. Natasha bluntly confirming that she was in an ongoing sexual partnership with Steve, but they had evidence she was often seen in public with Tony. Bucky being able to tell he wasn’t the right Tony without even looking at him. Wanda pulling knives on Barton and Romanov when they tried to blend in, because they were far too casual with each other.

 

Come to think of it, other than Tony and Natasha, he doesn’t have even the slightest idea as to where the others live inside the tower.

 

Stark’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment, struggling to say something that won’t immediately incriminate himself as the wrong Tony Stark.

 

He definitely can’t say what he’s thinking, like ‘ _that’s the biggest piece of horseshit I’ve ever heard. On what fucked-up planet am I paired with five people who, at best, blandly tolerate my existence for the sake of teamwork?_ ’.

 

“Well, that could be said of most things, Pep,” he finally settles on. “That doesn’t mean I – _we_ – have to live a lie.”

 

She smiles sadly. “I know. But all of you have been through so much, and it feels like you’ve finally found a nice slice of peace and quiet. I think, with the other announcement we can get this story to die down quickly and you guys can finally enjoy a long-deserved retirement.” Grimacing, she adds “Of course, I’m not sure how relaxing it will be to start with, since I know Natasha wants to dive head-first into our problem with Cerrera.”

 

“Yeah,” he says casually. “I’ll see if I can talk her out of that.”

 

Pepper frowns at him. “Why?” she asks, genuinely puzzled. “I agree with James on this one – if Cerrera wants to play pretend at being Tony Stark’s brother, he’s going to endure the entire experience, warts and all.”

 

BROTHER?

 

“Rhodey already warned me to have a trauma kit at the ready – Clint and Natasha seem a little too enthusiastic about this plan. I don’t think you have to worry about Cerrera getting any of Maria’s money. Either way, Howard’s reputation will take a hit, but that’s pretty much been happening since you took care of Stane.”

 

Stark finds himself laughing weakly, unable to process this amount of information. Five soulmates and someone claiming to be his brother? “I’m sure Bonnie and Clyde can keep it low-key.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure no one will find his body,” Pepper says pleasantly.

 

Oh, how very reassuring!

 

He leaves Pepper’s office with his head still reeling from all the information that’s just been stuffed inside it. _Overwhelmed_ doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling right now. And as crazy as it sounds to him…it’s also the only thing he’s heard that really explains the weird way people behave around here.

 

He finds himself trying to process all of this, but he doesn’t know how. Every time his brain captures one thing, it’s swept away by a completely different detail.

 

Pepper urging for a meeting with Tony at the dinner table.

 

“ _Tony, are you okay? You look like the reactor got put back in the hard way_.”

 

“ _We are going to have another long,_ long _talk about science experiment bullshit_ without a fucking group vote _, Tony_.”

 

“ _That’s not Tony_ , dcera.”

 

“ _You really, really do not want to do that_.”

 

The video of what Steve did to Natasha, the almost gleeful expression in her eyes as she watches their shock and horror, cheerfully bland the whole time.

 

Tony asking all of them to leave the room so that he can speak to Bucky in private.

 

“ _That floor is off limits to guests_.”

 

“FRIDAY,” he says, closing his eyes as he focuses on taking deep breathes in and out. “Which floors are for permanent residents rather than guest housing?”

 

“201 to 190 are reserved for residential use only and are not accessible to employees of the tower,” FRIDAY says helpfully. “They include guest suits, common areas, the joint residence, rooftop pool, workshop, Ms. Potts’ suite, Mr. Hogan’s rooms, the Parker family home, Ms. Maximoff’s rooms, and two laboratories.”

 

“Hey,” a voice greets and Stark nearly jumps out of his skin, before realizing that it was just Barton and sags against the wall in relief.

 

“Hey.” Stark stares as he grins at him, playful and mischievous, a cunning flirtatious expression that hits him straight in the groin. _Hey, that’s new_.

 

“I know you’ve been stressed out about this whole thing,” he murmurs, gently cupping Stark’s face. _Oh god it’s not Barton_.

 

He is frozen, a deer caught in headlights as Clint slaps his palms on the wall beside his head and slips is tongue is his mouth, filthy and full of dirty promises. Stark lets out a tiny, embarrassing mewl as Clint’s muscular thigh deliberately brushes his cock, trying valiantly to make an appearance despite its tight quarters in his pants.

 

“God, I love that sound,” Clint growls, his voice hitting a register that makes his cock jump up. Stark gives a loud, surprised gasp as he shamelessly cups him through his jeans. “I gotta surprise for you later, sweetheart.”

 

“ _Yeah_?” Stark asks, a weak helpless noise that he wants to take back as soon as he makes it. He should be telling him he isn’t Tony. He should be pushing him off. He’s getting _married_. To a _woman. Not Natasha._

 

“I bought you something,” Clint whispers in his ear, hands caressing down his sides. He was…handsy. Possessive. _I don’t hate it_. No. You do. You hate it. “Something real pretty. Just for my Tony.”

 

 _My Tony_. God, his hands are shaking.

 

“I talked them into leaving us alone for an afternoon…”

 

“Uh…” They both turn. “Clint…you…um…you gotta little bit confused there.”

 

Stark tells himself he doesn’t care that Clint yanks himself away from him like he’s been scalded. “Holy shit!” he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified. He glances from Stark to Tony, his hand rubbing over his mouth. “I didn’t know – Tony, I promise, I didn’t know-”

 

“I know you didn’t. He wasn’t exactly objecting, as far as I can tell.” Stark hates the look on his face. He doesn’t look mad at Stark. No, Tony _pities_ him. “You wouldn’t have let him do that unless you wanted something, and I’m guessing that means you know, or it wouldn’t have occurred to you.”

 

Stark doesn’t insult him by saying ‘ _know what_?’. “I wanted to know if it was true,” Stark admits hoarsely, the shock never quite leaving his face. “Pep said…”

 

Now Tony actually looks angry. “So you…you _tricked_ Pepper into giving away all my secrets?”

 

“I didn’t trick her, I failed to correct her,” Stark replies tartly. “Which is exactly what happened with Mister-All-Hands here. I never claimed to be you, they just made assumptions about my identity.”

 

Tony sighs, rolls his eyes expansively. “Okay. FRIDAY! Please call both teams to assemble…leave the kids out of this, please, they don’t need to see this shitshow Stark has forced us into.”

 

Stark looks appalled. “I’m not telling them about this! I might be stark-raving, pun intended, but not a single person in their right minds would ever believe this shit.”

 

“It doesn’t matter – it doesn’t make it less true.”

 

Clint snorts and glances at Stark. He wouldn’t be able to explain it if he tried, the ache in his stomach as he look back into his eyes, face empty of the passion glimpsed there earlier. “I guess we’re gonna see if Buck’s theory is true or not. God help us all if it is.”

 

“FRIDAY, send them to EUTERPE’s room.” Tony stares back into his own eyes flatly. “I guess it’s time to turn our guests into true believers.”


	14. mambo no. 5

Part of Stark still wanted to punch Rogers’ perfect teeth in when he was making that concerned face at him. The other part was just grateful there was another person here who would see how fucking insane all of these people were. The Avengers – both sets of them – were already in the tower room. Tony and Clint were escorting Stark between them like someone being taken to the gallows.

 

That’s pretty much how he felt, too.

 

Barnes is looking around the room like someone had fried his goddamn brains again – he has to admit, if he suddenly woke up in this nightmare-scape, he’d be wondering the same thing.

 

“There’s two of…there’s…two…”

 

“Yep, we know, buddy.” Barton claps him on the shoulder. “Breathe, Sergeant. Just breathe.”

 

With a long-suffering and aggrieved sigh, Bucky hits the button on his beads that will bring up Shuri and gestures between him and Barnes. After pausing a moment so that she can scream for thirty straight seconds, he says “There. Proof acquired. There are now two of me. Three, if you count the little shit downstairs. Satisfied?”

 

If Shuri does not inhale oxygen sometime within the next minute, she is going to pass out. “He- how- BUCKY!!!”

 

“Yes, darlin’, I know,” he drawls, enjoying her excitement. “Write down all your multi-syllable science questions for Tony and Bruce later. I’m sure they would be _overjoyed_ to help you develop a real-life TARDIS.” Judging from Bucky’s facial expression, this probably would not be the first attempt.

 

She looks impressed, finally heaving in a great lungful of air. “Was that a modern pop-culture reference?!”

 

“Science-fiction.” He flashes her a smile. “I’m workin’ on it.”

 

“Do you have a Shuri there?” she asks Barnes, whose mouth is still opening and closing as he tries to absorb his surroundings.

 

“Ye-Yesssss,” he manages to wheeze out. “Shuri…?”

 

“Talk later,” Bucky says quickly, before she breaks the other man’s brain anymore than it’s already been broken. They’ve both managed to survive seventy years of torture and brainwashing…with lifelong trauma, but still – he can take this, right? Uh, no...considering what Tony is about to do, maybe minimizing the damage is a wiser action.

 

“Okay, for the record, I’d like to prove something,” Clint says, staring at the non-original team members gathered there and then points at Barnes. “Do me a quick favor – hold your hand on that little black tower for…let’s say thirty seconds?”

 

Stark might have no love for Barnes, but he doesn’t trust these people as far as he can throw them – without the suit. “All of you told us not to touch it.”

 

“Yep, but you threw that out the window when you pretended to be Tony and then I kissed you,” Clint says breezily. At the outraged noises in the room, he waves his hand carelessly. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that explanation, keep your pants on – or don’t, honestly. Feel free to take them off! Barnes, your hand? It doesn’t have to be the right one – EUTERPE is gonna know who you are either way.”

 

“If I get electrocuted, your ass is mine, Barton,” Barnes grumbles.

 

Stark chokes, a somewhat hysterical laugh emerging from his chest that makes his teammates all stare at him.

 

Clint lifts his brows and stares at Bucky, who sighs again. “Don’t, Clint. Just _don’t_.”

 

Barnes’ light in the same pale gold as Bucky’s.

 

 _Hey, shady baby, I’m hot like the prodigal sun_  
Pick a petal eenie meenie miney moe  
And flower, you’re the chosen one

 _Well, your left hand’s free_  
And your right’s in a grip  
With another left hand  
Watch his right hand slip  
Towards his gun, oh no…

 

“Alright, alright, that’s good.” Cackling, Clint holds his hand out to Bucky. “Pay, bitch. I win and you’re nasty in every universe.”

 

“That was perfectly innocent!” Bucky protests with a squawk, heedless of their guests staring at them. “What could you possibly get out of that, other than that I’m a fucking amputee, you asshole?!”

 

“James Buchanan, you poor sweet child. Symbolism is a whole-ass thing and _Context. Is. Key_. Let’s think about this is our own context, since that’s your fucking theory. Do you really think that he’s talking about _an actual gun_?” Clint’s grin is almost a leer. “What d’ya think he’s doing with his left hand, Buck?”

 

“OKAY,” Steve yells, “We can cut that out _this goddamn second_ …Tony? _Please_?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stark says loudly. “Since when does _the choir boy_ swear?”

 

“Since I was never a fucking choir boy. I was an altar boy, and that means I get eight fucks a week,” Steve snarks right back.

 

Clint whoops, Bucky and Tony simultaneously applauding.

 

“Seriously?” Natasha grumbles impatiently. “Make your point and quit bating them – I never realized I’d forgotten how annoying your dick-measuring contests were until you stopped doing it.”

 

“Well, yes, it isn’t really necessary,” Bruce agrees serenely. “Now that we’ve all seen their dicks.”

 

Banner splutters. “Excuse me, wh-what?!”

 

Tony sighs, massaging his temples. “We’ll get to that. Who here knows what an Echo is?” Without looking at Stark, he points and barks “Not. You.”

 

“Do you guys think of that as your soul?” Barton asks, his face scrunching up in a way that definitely isn’t adorable.

 

“That’s…kind of an oversimplification, but for the sake of this conversation before I have to kill someone in this room, _YES_ , let’s just say that they’re our souls. The thing is – as Barnes here just demonstrated – all of you guys have one, too. Any biological organism capable of self-determination has one.”

 

“That was my _soul_?” Barnes demands. God, he looks so cute when he makes that lost puppy dog face!

 

Bucky grunts. “Consider yourself lucky – at least _yours_ is open to interpretation.”

 

‘ _What_ interpretation?” Rogers asks, dismayed.

 

“AS. I. WAS. SAYING,” Tony grits out. “Do any of you know what it means to have more than one song in your Echo – I’m still not talking to you, Stark. I already know that you know.”

 

“Natasha – the miniature Natasha – has six,” Banner says slowly.

 

“Yes, correct – as always, Banner is the one who understands me. Good. We can work with this. In Barnes and Noble’s day – don’t look at me like that. Fine! During the days of _Rogers and Hammerstein_ – suck it up, you brought this on yourself – they called these additional songs a lullaby, and they were…I guess you can say that we consider the person who matches those songs your _soulmate_. Natalia Romanova has five soulmates.”

 

“She came…she came with five…” Romanov’s voice is painful to hear, as though the words are spoken at a great distance. As though she speaks them with someone standing on her, pressing down on her chest cavity with great force.

 

Natasha looks directly at her, the first time she’s done so for longer than a few short seconds, and says “My name is also Natalia Romanova, and I also have five soulmates. And I suspect that your name is Natalia Romanova, and you…”

 

“That-that’s not possible. That’s not _real_.” Rogers insists, shaking his head.

 

“FRIDAY?” Tony asks, “Can you sync to EUTERPE and replay bits from each of us? You can…use me as a template, I guess.”

 

“Initiating connection…syncing…ready.”

 

The console begins to light up without the touch of a human hand, the brain scan already well known to EUTERPE’s system after six repeats.

 

“ _I want a Sunday kind of love. A love to last…past…Saturday! And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight...I want a Sunday kind of love…”_

 

A hive of red sparks forms a holographic image of Tony himself, hip cocked to one side and gesturing wildly in front of him, half-laughing.

 

“ _Followed my heart into the fire, got burned, got broken down by desire – I tried, I tried! But the smoke in my eyes left me blurry…blurry and blind_ …”

 

Natasha’s own voice causes a web of silver threads to form an image of her, in a long figure-hugging dress, a small smile sitting on her lips.

 

 _“There are loved ones, in the glory, whose dear forms you…often miss. When you close your…earthly story…will you join them in their bliss?_ ”

 

Waves of blue flame make Steve’s body, his posture easy and relaxed, hand sweeping back his lion’s man as he grins sheepishly.

 

 _“He’s as angry as the hills…he’s gotta mind and eyes and both set to kill – oh! Maybe he may learn to walk…maybe he may learn to take his time_ …”

 

Bruce’s body grows in emerald green, like a vine, his head tilted to the side and fingers nearly hiding the wide smile he wears.

 

 _“Cause I’m the one whose gonna show! When’s there’s nobody…I’ll be your man. Yeah, I’ll be your man_ …”

 

Ribbons of violet-purple form Clint, fast darts of color, his eyes directed upward to gaze at something unseen with awe and wonder.

 

The last figure completes the circle, their most controversial member, fizzing up in champagne-gold, staring at the ground with a smile that puts a dimple in his cheek.

 

“ _You know could crush poor me in two…but gentle oh so gentle are the things you do! Buck, how sweet is your back_!”

 

“ _Jesus_. H. _Christ_.” Stark murmurs, unsure if he was more fascinated or disgusted. Knowing it was intellectually true and actually having to see it were very different things. 

 

“FRIDAY, can we repeat that with Natalia’s scan on the Mini-Vengers?” Tony says quietly.

 

“Just a minute, Boss…retrieving scan…complete!”

 

“ _Baby, I’m a queen! So why do you call me baby_?”

 

Another silvery image of Natasha appears next to the first, lethal and coiled with deadly grace.

 

“ _I remember how they took you down…as the winter turned the meadow brown_...”

 

Young James stand next to his older counterpart, his eyes still wide and innocent despite the way the war has made him suffer.

 

“They’re out of order,” Barton murmurs.

 

“No, they’re not,” Clint says, meeting his gaze. “They’re in the order you meet, and traveling here has fucked up her timeline. This isn’t Tony’s order anymore, it’s hers.”

 

“ _I’m not difficult to please… Act nice and gentle to me_ …”

 

Like Natalia, Clinton is tenser than his older self. No, not tenser – less skilled at appearing relaxed.

 

“ _There is a fire…in the sea! And it burns in you and me_!”

 

Steven is barely half the size of his older self, but his voice is a powerful one, commanding and strong.

 

“ _All of me is all for you and what I’ve got to give is not enough…it’s a dark night_ …”

 

By contrast, Robert is nearly the same size as Bruce, but somehow seems much smaller than that.

 

“ _All I need…is someone like you… My dearest darling, please love me, too_!”

 

Anthony completes the second set of six, his confidence not quite as well put on but just as energetic.

 

The silence is deafening, before Stark finally says “You live in alternate realities. This doesn’t say anything about us.”

 

Bucky crosses his arms, staring steadily at Barnes. “The queen has a garden in Wakanda, filled with beautiful flowers. Do you know it?”

 

Reluctantly, filled with tension, Barnes replies “Yes, I do.”

 

“And you slept near them, didn’t you?” Bucky asks, his eyes all too knowing. “Did you dream?”

 

Barnes is very still, frozen like a deer who suddenly sees the gleaming eyes of a wolf in the trees. Gesturing at the woman and men around Barnes, at varying distances away from him, Bucky says “Shall I tell them what you dreamed about?”

 

His eyes, flint gray with fear, widen and a horrible croak comes from his mouth. “ _Don’t_.” Gaze darting around nervously, he says “That’s private.”

 

“Like what we did to the Starks? Steve seemed to think _that_ was private, too.” Behind him, Stark can feel Rogers flinch. Oddly, he can’t help but notice that Tony looks relatively calm and Steve looks apologetic but not nearly as guilty his own. “What about what we did to Natalia? I’ll bet not even Stevie knows about _that_.”

 

Romanov stares between the two of them, a flash of unease he’s certain the people of her own world can’t recognize. “What is he talking about? James?”

 

Bucky glances at her. It isn’t an act, he can tell – she genuinely doesn’t understand what he means. “Huh. They erased it. Natasha?” he asks, turning to the woman beside him. “Did they erase me?”

 

The redheaded Natasha hums thoughtfully. “They tried. But you’re a part of me, James. Nothing could remove any of you from me completely – it’s why we weren’t allowed to hear anything but our own Echo. Once you have it, the knowledge becomes…nearly impossible to purge.”

 

Bucky nods slowly. “I thought as much, since Pierce had such a hard time getting me under control after Steve spoke to me.” He turns back to Barnes, examining his gray-tinged face. “But you did it, didn’t you? I can see it in your eyes – you know what I’m talking about. The only difference between you and me is that somehow, your victim remembers your crime even less than you do.”

 

Barton is angry, coiled tight. No one is closer to Romanov than he is. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened to Nat?”

 

“I wasn’t given choices, and neither were you,” Natasha says quietly. “I doubt it was any different for them, James. In his defense and yours, that was probably the only slice of enjoyment I had that they couldn’t control.”

 

“Explain. Yourself.” Romanov demands in a hiss. “ _Now_.”

 

Barnes examines the lights the ceiling, shocking even Bucky when he says, “In 2001, I was required to spend six months testing a group of teenage girls in Moscow, from fifteen to nineteen years old. I tested them on their marksmanship, hand to hand combat, stealth, assassination, surveillance. I also tested how resilient they were against coercion.”

 

Stark growls “Jesus Christ, that’s disgusting. You _tortured_ little girls?!”

 

Barnes meets his eyes, ashamed. “It was worse than that. They made me…” He squeezes his eyes shut before holding his gaze again. “They made me put my hand down their pants, and if they broke and gave me the intel they were supposed to guard, they failed the test. There was a little redhead – she was the smartest, the most talented fighter, but I couldn’t get her to pass no matter what I did.”

 

Barton and Stark both swear loudly and fervently.

 

Bucky looks at Natasha. “If I made her come, I got the chair. If I spoke to her beyond my instructions, I got the chair. If I touched her without permission, I got the chair. If I touched myself, even after I left the room, I _really_ got the chair.”

 

“That-that can’t be true,” Romanov mutters, shaking her head. “No, I…I passed that test.”

 

Gently, Natasha says “No, you passed after your seventeenth birthday, when James broke _all_ of those rules and they sent him back into cold storage.”

 

Barnes nods. “I’m sorry, Natalia. She's telling the truth. I had no idea they erased the memory.”

 

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” Banner points out.

 

Tony gives a theatrical and expansive gesture to the EUTERPE console. “All you have to do put your hand on it and hold it until the music stops.” When not a single one of them steps up, he snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look at you assholes – Schrodinger’s fucking soulmates. As long as you aren’t certain, you can call us liars and say we’re nuts, but you’re not willing to find out for sure.”

 

“Oh for god’s sake,” Rogers growls and storms up to the platform.

 

Tony keeps the grin off his face, but Steve can see it in his eyes anyway – he knew Rogers couldn’t stop himself from taking the bait. God, did he really used to be that stupid? _Yeah, you were_.

 

As the music starts, FRIDAY builds a third Steve, the model of Rogers a closed-off figure with arms crossed forebodingly over his chest.

 

 _Load the car and write the note_  
Grab your bag and grab your coat  
Tell the ones who need to know  
We are headed north

 

Rogers is fairly calm, listening with brows furrowed. Tony can tell that he isn’t taking this seriously, until the chorus hits.

 

 _Aw, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in_  
Are you aware the shape I’m in?  
My hands, they shake,  
My head, it spinds  
Aw, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in!

 

He’s so still he looks like he may shatter into pieces.

 

 _When at first I learned to speak_  
I used all my words to fight  
With him and her and you and me  
Oh, but it’s just a waste of time  
It’s such a waste of time

 

Looking at his (former?) friend’s face, frozen in an expression haggard shock, Stark says “How do we know this isn’t a trick?”

 

“Because, in Thor’s words, ‘it’s a thing felt as well as heard’,” Bruce answers. “You can’t trick someone into feeling a connection that doesn’t exist.”

 

 _Dumbed down and numbed by time and age_  
The dreams the catch, the world the cage  
The highway sets the traveler’s stage  
All exits look the same  
  
Three words that became hard to say  
I and love and you  
I and love and you  
I and love and you

 

When his Echo fades, Rogers lets out a long breath, a sound like he’s been sucker punched escaping him.

 

“Remember,” Steve says, watching his face. “You agreed: until the last song ends.”

 

None of them – save for maybe Barnes and Rogers – are surprised when a third Bucky bursts into golden existence, head bowed with the weight brought by shame, the song the same as the one Barnes produced on his own during that short clip.

 

 _Well, your left hand’s free_  
And your right’s in a grip  
With another left hand  
Watch his right hand slip  
Towards his gun, oh no…

 

The others still have no idea what the fuck that was even supposed to mean – presumably something about sex, judging from Clint’s unholy glee.

 

The next song does not even need the third Natasha to form – like the redheaded woman, her Echo is in her own voice. But not triumphant and confident, and this version of her stares stonily into the distance.

 

 _Cold feet, don’t fail me now_  
So much left to do…  
If I should run ten thousand miles home  
Would you be there?  
Just a taste of things to come  
I still smile…

 _But I don’t wanna die alone_  
I don’t wanna die alone  
Way before my time

 

The men aren’t certain they’ve ever seen Romanov this unsettled, even when half the planet disappeared before their very eyes – even then, she and the others were so stunned, there was no room for any other reaction.

 

 _Is it any wonder_  
All this empty air!  
I’m drowning in the laughter…  
Way before…my time has come!

 

It makes their stomachs ache, to hear her voice, half-pleading: _I don’t wanna die alone_ …

 

They nearly miss the formation of the third Bruce, exhausted and staring distractedly off to the side – but it’s hard to miss the deep rumbling hum that accompanies it.

  
  
_Oh-oh-oh, why do you treat me so?_  
Oh-oh-oh, why do you treat me so?  
Well, you cause me to weep  
And you cause me to moan  
Cause me to pack up  
My bags and leave home  
  


Banner feels a chill go through him. Is this what a musical manifestation of the Hulk sounds like?

 

 _Did you hear the rain?_  
Oh, the rain – whooo!  
You can try and run and hide   
Tearing at the chain  
Oh, Lucifer’s inside!

 

When the third Tony forms, Stark bites down on his tongue, trying to swallow the hysterical laughter rising in his throat, itching to burst out of him.

 

_I would rather- I would rather go blind, boy_   
_Then to see you walk away from me, child – Lord!_

 

What if they already have? He thinks, unaware that he is already considering this theory to be a reality, a state of fact.

 

 _So, you see, I love you so much –_  
That I don’t wanna watch you leave me, baby!  
Most of all, I just don’t…  
I just don’t wanna be free, no!

 

A burning fills his guts. So what if it’s true? What options does he have? Just ignore that they don’t give a shit to eat the scraps of affection their willing to give?

 

 _My girl, my girl had a hold on me_  
So tight, so tight that I could not see  


 

It’s hardly a surprise when Clint forms a complete set of the third group, his song a slow, measured lament.

 

_One day, one day I let her go  
It hurt, hurt so you’ll never know_

 

Bucky nearly feels sorry for them, looking at their gray, miserable faces. They don’t know, none of them – they can only see the destruction this causes to their social dynamics. They don’t understand how good it could be.

 

 _At night_  
At night I cry alone  
I weep!  
I weep till the early morn  
At night,   
I cry alone  
I weep all night, till the early morn  
At night, at night   
I cry alone…

 

Stark looks as close to vomiting as a man can get without actively hurling. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he hisses, ignoring the stunned look on Rogers’ face in favor of glaring down Tony. “Are you seriously telling me you all…I don’t know, share Natasha?”

 

“Excuse me?” Romanov asks sharply.

 

“Mostly it’s a lot of orgies,” Bruce says calmly, making Rogers and Barnes audibly choke on air.

 

“What we are trying to say,” Clint says, biting back giggles. “Is that we’re a bunch of fuckin’ freaks and so are you.”

 

“He _attacked_ you,” Stark snarls, pointing at Bucky. “Steve is a fucking liar, but I’ve made peace with Barnes. In Siberia, he didn’t even bother defending himself. But _he_ attacked you like a goddamn _animal_.”

 

Bucky huffs, a small disgruntled sound. “I’d fully admit to a lot of bad things, but that is not one of them.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “FRIDAY, play the first clip from the hide and seek file. Use the restricted version.”

 

“Yes, Boss.”

 

The holograms of the three groups disappear. Since the room is too big to play it along the wall, FRIDAY forms at new holographic image, recreating the event in 3D. They are back in the kitchen, Tony hiding behind the island again.

 

Except this time, the actual sounds are playing, too.

 

“There you are, my lamb,” Bucky purrs. His chest and shoulders flex outward as he inhales deeply. His exhale is a growl. “Mmm, _god_! You smell good enough to eat…I can hear your little heart racing, Tony. Pounding so loud, so hard…”

 

Still crouched in his hiding place, Tony covers a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the sound of his breathing. His eyes watch the stainless steel door of the fridge, waiting for the moment that Bucky’s back is turned before he sneaks toward the hall. This time, they can all hear the feral roar behind them as Bucky leaps over the counter, flinching with Tony’s terrified scream as he grabs him by the arms, teeth pressed to his nape, holding him down to the floor.

 

Then Bucky’s jaw relaxes, tongue licking away the sweat at the back of his neck. “Look what I’ve caught – a tasty little lamb.”

 

Tony makes a noise, like a surprised laugh, as Bucky rolls him over and kisses him right in the middle of the floor, yanking his shirt away, his mouth constantly moving. The video cuts off before Bucky reach his cock, but it’s pretty clear that’s where he plans to go.

 

“Hide and seek,” Tony says lightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “The most _dangerous_ game of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New songs in this chapter are:  
> "I and Love and You" - The Avett Brothers  
> "Left Hand Free" - alt-J  
> "Before My Time" - Scarlett Johansson  
> "Did You Hear the Rain?" - George Ezra  
> "I'd Rather Go Blind" - Etta James  
> "I Cry Alone" - The Black Keys


	15. your sister can't twist (but she can rock'n'roll)

“Well, it honestly doesn’t matter to me – I’m getting _married_ ,” Stark says, rolling his eyes. “So the never-ending sex party can go on without me.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Have fun!”

 

The reactions from this are pretty instantaneous – Clint snorts, Natasha suddenly finds the floor fascinating, Steve covers his face, Bucky winces, and Bruce grimaces. With a bitter laugh, Tony shakes his head “Yeah, let me know how that works out for you in six months, when she’s filing for a divorce you can’t talk her out of because she’s realized this is never going to get easier, for either of you.”

 

“You don’t have any way of knowing that and frankly, you can fuck right off,” Stark says, beginning to sound more and more exhausted. “ _I’m_ not _you_.”

 

“Oh, you’re absolutely right. Banner already told me – I’m you with over a year of civilian experience.” Tony waves a hand in one those extravagant, ambiguous gestures. “Maybe I’m completely wrong and Echoes in your universe work differently from ours – maybe you can get married and live happily ever after, and you won’t be dooming five other people. But right now, you have no evidence that will happen, and every reason to believe it won’t.”

 

“Hold on a second,” Banner says abruptly. “What do you mean, ‘dooming’? How are we doomed if Tony marries Pepper?”

 

“You have six and you need six,” Steve says quietly. “Without all six, the rest of you are doomed to fall apart.” To Barnes, he says, even more quietly, “He’s going to leave you someday. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“I figured that, yeah.” Barnes nods, staring at the ground.

 

Rogers makes a sound of outrage. “I wouldn’t do that!”

 

“One day – probably many long years from now, because we’re nothing if not stubborn – you’ll realize you risked everything on him and now you have nothing.”

 

“You’re-he’s my best friend,” Rogers whispers, heartbroken. “As long as I have Bucky, everything will be…”

 

“You’ve destroyed every relationship you had for him,” Bucky says gently. “And that places the burden of being everything you need on his shoulders. Someday, you’re going to realize the trade wasn’t worth it, because I was never equal to that task and neither is he. I know you better than you know yourself, and you _will_ leave, Steve. You might tell yourself that isn’t what you’re doing, but you will.”

 

“If all of you have such an ability to predict the future,” Banner says amiably. “What’s going to happen to the rest of us?”

 

With a slightly disparaging tone, Bruce says, “You’ll probably be okay – you’ll run away when things get difficult, just like you always do. But if you do run, you have to commit to staying away from them, or you’ll start the cycle up all over again. And that’s not going to be as easy as it sounds.”

 

“You’ll get along just as well as you ever did,” Natasha says, gesturing between Barton and Romanov. “Just don’t do anything stupid – like kiss her.”

 

“Of course, now that she’s said that,” Clint drawls, with the flash of a cruel smile. “You’ll think about it every time you see each other. So good luck with that.”

 

Barton stares at Tony, shrewd and flat, like he’s mentally calculating the angles of a particularly tricky shot. “So, you’re telling me if I yank their clothes off and we fuck like bunnies, everything’s going to get better? All of our problems will just magically disappear?”

 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Bucky says, almost apologetic.

 

“The opposite!” Bruce says, alarmed by this suggestion. “Our issues aren’t gone because we’re having sex – we’re having sex because we managed to resolve most of our major issues.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Steve adds, glaring at Bucky. “We’re still going to have a discussion about the acceptable use of a white lie.”

 

Bucky heaves a deep sigh, but says nothing in his own defense.

 

Casually, Tony says, “Actually you should try kissing them first.” The alternate Avengers stare at him, wordless and horrified. “You know. For starters.”

 

“He’s right.” Shrugging at their expressions, Steve says, “You don’t plant seeds in dead soil at wintertime and expect to get wildflowers in the summer.”

 

“So, you’re telling me you really have no problem with any of this?” Romanov asks Tony, with a penetrating, searching stare.

 

Stark and Rogers both squawk with outrage when Tony dryly replies “Every night is a sex buffet and we’re all on the menu. I haven’t gone longer than two weeks without a sore ass in the past year. Bruce probably still has one of my fingernails in his back from last night – you _are_ telling me who taught you do that, I want to hand over their congressional medal myself – and before breakfast, I did things to Steve he’ll _probably_ have to go to confession for. Does any of that sound like I have trouble with this, Romanov?”

 

Barton raises his hand. “Can you describe those acts, please?”

 

“BARTON!” Rogers barks, neck red.

 

He shrugs. “I might as well get something out of this shitshow, cause I’m slutty and you’re all hot.”  

 

“Amen,” Clint mutters.

 

Tony gives Barton a smile that manages to be both terrifying and mouth-wateringly seductive. “If you like, we’ll tell you later. I’ve seen shit that could make a nun say, ‘Fuck Jesus, I need that dick right now’. Spoiler alert: I’m definitely not a nun, and I’m _surrounded_ by high-quality dick.”

 

“Tony!” Steve scolds – rather ineffectively, as he’s shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

 

Under his brother, Stark whispers to Rogers “When did you grow a sense of humor?”

 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Natasha says, with a dangerous smile. “ _Captain America_ is the humorless dickhead. _Steve Rogers_ tells graduate-level dad jokes and has taken over Tony’s previous ambition of getting Pepper to laugh at inappropriate times during corporate events.”

 

“Super hearing,” Tony mourns. “Equals much better timing than I have.”

 

“Are we magically supposed to fall goo-goo eyes in love, then?” Stark asks, eyeing them with a hardened disguise that the natives can tell is the only thing concealing his longing, his need to have a place with them.

 

Patiently, Natasha says, “Who would you say you know the least? Of the six of us? Five, I suppose, not counting yourself.”

 

“Um…Barnes?”

 

“No,” Bucky flashes his most charming, oh-geez boyish grin at Stark, the one that serves to remind him that Tony used to have a crush on him and has since childhood. “Not the person you’ve known the shortest time. You know plenty about me, good and bad.”

 

“Steve.”

 

“No,” Steve says gently. “I’m the one you hate the most.”

 

Tony points at Barton and says “What’s Clint’s full name? Where was he born? What’s his birthday? Does he have any brothers or sisters? What’s his favorite flavor of ice cream? I’ll bet every stock I own you can’t answer any of those correctly, but you know how to answer most of those for everyone else, don’t you?”

 

“Uh…” Stark’s blank stare is really the only answer he needs.

 

“Clinton Francis Barton. Waverly, Iowa. January 7th. One brother, Bernard, and he’s a massive asshole.” Tony pauses, looking over at Clint. “Huh, I don’t actually know your favorite ice cream flavor. I’m gonna guess it’s strawberry, because everybody knows strawberry is for perverts.”

 

“Ooooh, _guilty as charged_.”

 

Stark stares at Clint with an intensity that’s nearly uncomfortable. He suddenly knows what he’s going to ask almost before the words even leave his mouth. “What did you buy me? Buy _him_?”

 

Rogers says “Tony, what are you talking about?”

 

“I kissed him, when I thought he was mine. Told him I got him a present. But it’s Tony’s surprise, not yours.” Clint says absently. He doesn’t miss Stark’s flinch at ‘I thought he was mine’, and neither does Barton, he notices. Softer, he says, “And you’d really prefer that I don’t answer that, Stark. His secrets are yours, too.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Bruce hums thoughtfully, considering them with the way a professor might a group of especially promising but struggling students, and murmurs “I want each of you to think of the sickest, darkest, most shameful thing you’ve ever wanted.”

 

Barnes blanches to the color of milk, but luckily the others don’t notice that.

 

Dismissively, Stark says “Well, I’m pretty sure we’ve already seen Natasha’s.”

 

Startled, the men stare at Natasha.

 

Leaning against one of the sofas, she gives a little laugh and, meeting Romanov’s eyes, says “You know, the sickest part of that was something you couldn’t even see, but it was the part I wanted most – I felt totally and completely safe the whole time. That fantasy wouldn’t work any other way.”

 

Strangled, Steve says “You showed them…?”

 

“I didn’t want them to get more curious about any of the _other_ videos Tony was archiving.” Sighing at his expression, she says “My consent was never in question, Steve. We’ve talked about this already, please don’t caught up on it again. James will do it if I ask, but he doesn’t enjoy it and I’d rather not put him through that.”

 

“The point I was making,” Bruce says, clearing his throat “Is that each one of you wants at least one thing that embarrasses you so much you’d rather be stabbed through the eyeball than admit it, and any one of us could stand up and name all of them, so now might be a good time to keep your curiosity in check.”

 

Rogers opens his mouth and Steve says “Don’t. I know you think you’re free of whatever dirty thoughts the rest of them have, but that’s only because it’s so far beyond your ability to imagine that it doesn’t exist on a conscious level… _yet_. The things I could say would make you wish Ma was alive just to wash out my mouth.”

 

His mouth snaps shut with a click of teeth, making Stark give an appreciative little chuckle. “Please teach me your ways, sensei.”

 

It was a flippant remark, one of his throw-away wisecracks, which is why Stark is so surprised when he actually gets a response that’s not the verbal equivalent of an eyeroll. His heart skips, flips, and stops when Steve gives him a grin and a wink. “I’ve never doubted your ability to master a skill, Tony.”

“That,” Banner breathes, looking at Stark’s momentarily stunned expression. “Has to be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

Dryly, Bruce says “Oh, it definitely gets stranger, never worry about that. It’s a relative term when you live here.” With tired sigh, he adds “All we’re really trying to say here is that you’re free to make your own choices. There’s no terrible karmic consequences waiting for you if you all decide to go your separate ways and never see each other again.”

 

“…but you also shouldn’t be super surprised when all of your attempts at a relationship inevitably fail.” Tony finishes, without a shred of sympathy in his voice. “Possibly not even just romantic ones, but it’s totally your call, there’s no hard and fast rules here.”

 

“What they’re trying to say tactfully, is that you need to find a way to make this work,” Natasha says flatly. “Because if you don’t live together peacefully, your other option is spending the rest of your lives in separate misery.”

 

“Come one, come all, step right up to the circus of assholes,” Clint says, with a gesture toward the others. “Where you, too, can have five roommates and a lifetime supply of the best head you’ll ever get in…I think I can guarantee ‘in any universe’ at this point, can’t I?”

 

“Pretty safe bet, yeah,” Bucky agrees mildly.

 

“How do we know this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank?” Rogers points out.

 

“Why would we-you know what, _never mind_ ,” Steve says with an impatient sigh. He whirls to face Tony, cornering him against the back of a sofa and smoothing one large hand against his facial hair.

 

The kiss is deliberate, and leisurely, Steve licking slow and hot into his mouth.

 

“Mmm!” Tony makes a startled sound, not quite a moan, gripping a handful of tawny blonde hair as he pulls on Steve’s lower lip with his teeth before backing up a step. He’s breathing hard and his hair is a little more disheveled. “You better deliver on all those promises later.”

 

“Don’t I always, Tony?” Jaws drop as he adds, darker and huskier, just loud enough for them to hear. “Can I get that with a cherry on top?”

 

“You can get it with fucking rainbow sprinkles if you keep that up.” Tony grins, playful and wicked. “Tonight show up hungry, Cap.”

 

“It will be my pleasure,” he says graciously, with a naughty little boy’s smile that could charm the pants off a saint.

 

Spoiler alert: they were not saints.

 

It was like being gutted, Stark thought incredulously. This place really was a chamber of torture designed especially for him. Designed to taunt him with what he has secretly wanted and won’t ever get.

 

Bucky approaches him cautiously, as though trying to corral a spooked horse. Quietly, so that the other alternates will not hear, he says “You have no reason to believe that I have good intentions, but now that we’re being honest, you smell terrified and miserable and that’s a god awful feeling, because you might not be my Tony, but you’re still Tony.”

 

“I _smell_ -you can smell me?!” Stark whispers furiously, outraged.

 

Bucky nods, with the barest flicker of a glance at Barnes and Rogers. “Steve and I have a…highly developed sense of smell. And hearing. Like right now, you smell like fear and sadness. I can hear your heart beating, and you sound like you’re having a panic attack, Tony.”

 

 _I can hear your little heart racing, Tony_ …

 

“Gee, I wonder _why_ ,” he hisses. Bucky can sense the almost physical urge to hide in his voice.

 

“There’s a way to…make them show you how they really feel about you,” Bucky says slowly, gesturing at EUTERPE.

 

“Pretty sure I already know that, thanks for the almost-assistance though, pal.”

 

“No, I promise you,” Bucky says lowly. “The song is goes far beyond the conscious level – you won’t have a single piece of doubt when you hear it.”

 

“I don’t have any doubts _now_ , Bar- _Bucky_ ,” he snarls. “We get along like wet cats in a burlap sack.”

 

“That’s what I’m saying, Tony – EUTERPE can totally bypass that surface level bullshit of all the everyday conflicts and misunderstandings.” Seeing the mistrust in his expression, Bucky looks over his shoulder and says, “Tony and Steve, can you give a little…mood music?”

 

“You game?” Steve asks. This was a private ritual for them, now that they knew they were all soulmates. Even having their alternate selves watching was a little invasive.

 

“What the hell, let’s do it,” Tony sighs. _Bye Bye Love. Tainted Love. After the Love is Gone_ …

 

No. NO. He already knows that’s a dumb fear.

 

 _Who Loves You? You Make Loving Fun_.

 

“You’ve been together for a year,” Stark says bleakly. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Natasha played ‘ _You Make Loving Fun’_ for him after less than a week,” Bucky murmurs calmly. “And time doesn’t matter – the song never changes because both of you are essentially the same person no matter how much time passes. It would take something major to make it change. Even the brainwashing and torture couldn’t make mine go away.”

 

“You’re telling me this thing basically knows your relationship destiny?”

 

“Kind of – it judges your psychological compatibility.”

 

Lights flare at the touch of their hands, a play of cobalt and scarlet. Tony wins, a soft clear female voice plaintively singing:

 

 _One, I love_  
Two, she loves  
And three, she’s true to me

 _All of my friends fell out with me_  
Because I kept your company  
Let them say whatever they will  
I love my love with a free good will

 

Rogers lifts his head at the Irish lilt of her voice, the sweet bell-toll of her high voice, watching the way Steve kept his eyes on Tony. Watching him, for all the world, as though he were the only thing in it worth seeing.

 

 _When I’m awake, I find no rest_  
Until his head lies on my breast  
When I’m asleep, I’m dreaming of  
My one, my dear, my own true love

 

Tony’s heart is pounding, a frantic tattoo in his chest that sounds to Steve like ‘I love, I love, I love’. The things Steve would do to keep him scared the shit out of him. It should scare anyone who tried to take him away more.

 

 _And when the fire to ice will run,_  
When the tide no longer turns,  
When the rocks melt with the sun,  
My love for you will have just begun

 

Her voice dies with a chilling finality, and Tony says nothing. He doesn’t have to – anything he could’ve wanted to say his soul has said for him. Steve’s hand is large and warm as they step away, his stride confident. Almost challenging. Daring Rogers or the others to say anything.

 

With his usual concise language, Tony stares at Stark and Rogers and says, “Nut up or shut up, Steven. Pretty sure you know what that means.”

 

Rogers sighs and mutters "Can't hurt anything, I suppose."

 

"Wow, she was right," Bucky blurts out, awed and horrified. "You _are_ a dumb bitch."

 

"But we appreciate it." Clint assures, trying to choke back laughter as he pats his Steve on the arm. "We _really_ appreciate it."

 

Steve echoes the sigh. "Yeah, I deserved that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used in this chapter include:  
> "One, I Love" - Karan Casey  
> 


	16. i'm happy (just to dance with you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so soft, I'm D Y I N G
> 
> (songs at the end of the chapter)

Despite all of Rogers’ bravado, Stark still looks reluctant. He didn’t want to give a piece of himself away like this – he already felt like he’d given most of himself away to these people. At the touch of their hands, their colors were the same as their original counterparts, blazing fire-engine red and deep-sea cobalt blue.

 

Unlike their counterparts, Rogers became the speaker, his tune for Stark beginning with a gentle guitar, it’s melody spooling out slow like a ribbon of honey-sweet sound woven just for him.

 

_I wish I was a flame_   
_Dancin’ in a candle,_   
_Lightin’ up your living room_   
_High up on a mantle_

_I could bring some romance_   
_Without any scandal,_   
_And then when you were done_   
_You’d just put me out_

 

Rogers’ heart pulsed hard, a continuous beat drumming at the very back of his throat that made him feel sick. _Felt_ as well as heard. God, they were right, he was a dumb bitch.

 

_I wish I was a tune_   
_That you sang in your kitchen_   
_Puttin’ your groceries away_   
_And washing your dishes_

_I could float around your tongue_   
_And ease the tension_   
_Then when you were done_   
_You’d just quiet down…_

_But if I get too close_   
_Will the magic fade?_   
_Would I turn you off_   
_Or away?_

_If I pull you in_   
_Would I push you out_   
_Of something here_   
_You care about?_

 

Stark’s face is burning by the time they reach ‘ _into me you’d slip’_ , and his heart beats so fast at ‘ _while you undress’_ that Rogers is worried he’s on the verge of a heart attack, staring at him in concern.

 

_I’m at a loss, for what to do  
But I’m drawn to you_

 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Stark hisses at him.

 

Rogers’ eyes close, the shame of someone caught red-handed.

 

_I’m not a song_   
_I’m not a sweater_   
_I’m not a fire_   
_I’m something better_

_I’m a man in love_   
_Writing you a letter_

 

“Were. You. Ever-” His hands shook, and he was startled to find Rogers’ hands on his shoulders.

 

“Just-just breathe,” Rogers chokes out. “Please, Tony. Just keep breathing.”

 

_I love you  
I’m sorry_

 

“I could _hate_ you for this,” Stark whispers, grabbing his arm and twisting until it begins to hurt. He sounded betrayed all over again. “For all of it.”

 

Rogers makes a wounded noise, but does not plead his own innocence. He opens and closes his mouth, but in the end, says nothing. With reddened eyes, Stark says harshly “Fuck you. Say _something_ to me, goddamn it! Or don’t I even deserve that from you?!”

 

“Hate me,” Rogers finally pleads. “Hurt me. Curse my name every day. But don’t send me away, Tony. Please.”

 

“ _Send you_?” he demands, digging his fingernails in. “ _Send_. _You_? You walked away from  me, not the other way around, Steve. I wanted to fucking talk to you-”

 

“In Siberia-”

 

“Fuck Siberia,” he says, a bit hysterically, the words spilling from his mouth like blood from a wound. “I’m talking about before that, in Berlin. I wanted to fucking help – help you, help Barnes – and you had to make it a fight, because you have to make _everything_ a fight. And I’m-” He breaks off, begins to cry. “I’m _tired_ , Steve. I’m so, so tired. I-I can’t do this…”

 

“You can. You _have_ ,” Steve says gently, with a supportive hand on his shoulder. With a piercing, icy stare at Rogers, he adds “But you can’t do it alone. You shouldn’t have to.”

 

“That’s what I meant,” Tony tells the others, gesturing to Stark. “Do this, and you become committed to making it work with each other or just resolve to go your separate ways and spare each other the pain.”

 

There is a pause.

 

Stark holds very, very still as Bucky coaxes Barnes – halting and hesitant – closer. “I’m not going to tell you not to be afraid,” Bucky tells Stark, gently cupping his face with the right hand. “Feel how you want to.”

 

“I’m not…afraid. In the physical sense,” he says, shuddering as Bucky slowly threads Stark’s fingers through Barnes’. Talking was difficult with those pale eyes staring at him, and even harder when it was multiplied by two. “More in the emotional free-fall sense.”

 

“That’s _worse_ ,” Barnes replies hoarsely, but he won’t let go of Stark now, hungrily brushing his mismatched thumbs over his wrists.

 

“He’ll take care of you,” Bucky whispers, still driven to mend the shredded aching pieces of his heart.

 

“I don’t need-” It’s such a filthy lie that Stark chokes on the words and the tears well up again, sharp and painful.

 

Barnes can smell the agony, wants to howl and whimper with it like a wounded dog in the night. Now that he doesn’t have the weight of his psychological and physical trauma pulling at him, Stark’s distress tugs at him, yanks upon his heartstrings. He doesn’t hear himself speaking, he just wants the misery to end and pulls Stark to him. “Oh no, no. Don’t cry. Shhh…don’t cry…”

 

“This isn’t-this isn’t even _real_ ,” Stark sobs, hands fisting into his shirt.

 

“What do you mean?” Barnes murmurs.

 

To Bucky and Steve, Stark says “You say he can smell me? Hear my heart beating? And just like you, he feels _compelled_ to help me.” Bucky nods and Stark begins to withdraw from his hold, laughing bitterly. Though uneasy, Barnes does not stop him. “You aren’t comforting me because you want to, you’re doing it because something in this world steers you to.”

 

It’s eerie to hear both Bucky and Barnes huff in the same tone.

 

Bluntly, Bucky says “I’ve had a lot of people fill my head with a lot of ideas, Tony. But in a hundred years, only one idea has ever felt right and natural to me.”

 

Stark gives a tiny gasp of surprise as Bucky gently bends to lean their foreheads together. Eyes closed, he listens to that frantic, broken heart and says “Do you think about breathing, Tony? Blinking? Eating? Do you tell your heart to beat?”’

 

“No, of course not.”

 

He holds Stark’s hand to his chest, with the lightest of touches. “It’s not involuntary, Tony. It’s _instinctual_. He’s like breathing to me. You’re like breathing to him. We don’t have to think about that, when it’s exactly the way it should be.” Only loud enough for Stark to hear, he whispers “He was made for this, Tony.”

 

“I’m still a little caught up on the idea that all of you are totally cool having sex with each other,” Barton admits.

 

Bruce suddenly says, “ _I Put a Spell on You_.”

 

“Uh…what?”

 

Laughing quietly, he says “It’s a conversation I had with James, when we first realized what we were. James said that I was his and only his and I had to remind him that I couldn’t be only his, because he shares me with four other people.”

 

Clint shrugs “But he doesn’t consider it sharing, because we belong to him, too. And he belongs to us.”

 

“Belonging to all, and all belonging,” Bruce agrees quietly, recalling his thoughts during that conversation.

 

“You don’t get jealous?” Banners asks, trying to keep a clinical mind about it. His companions were wondering the same thing.

 

“Why?” Clint asks honestly. “What’s there to be jealous of? We have separate spaces to go to when we need them, but we don’t keep secrets from each other. You want sex, play eeny-meeny-miny-moe – or no, fuck that. Just find your nearest Clint Barton, because I guarantee he’s gonna be down to fuck. Give me your silly, your horny, your weirdest fucking fantasy – and your weirdest fantasy fucking – because I promise, I will try anything at least once.”

 

Tony adds, “But no tentacles.”

 

He shudders with great feeling. “No, hopefully they won’t encounter that problem.”

 

Steve sighs. “Well, if they do, they’ll have someone to handle it, right?”

 

“Right. I am very pro-consentacles, just not on _me_.”

 

Romanov eyes him. “Do we want to know?”

 

Everyone but Tony immediately says “NO!”

 

Tony grins and shrugs. “It’s a funny story, but not exactly relevant.”

 

Barton considers himself the one with the most to gain and the least to lose. He stepped up to the console himself, giving Romanov a steady stare, all the more unnerving for the knowledge within it. Quietly, he said “I’ve never asked you for anything.”

 

“No,” she agrees slowly.

 

“I still won’t ask,” he says, with the barest flash of teeth. “You’ll do it or you won’t – just like everything else. Because you don’t ask, either.”

 

Romanov stares back at him for a moment, before looking at her own redhaired self and saying “Does he…do they know…everything? About everything? Our graduation? Drakov’s daughter? Volgograd?”

 

“And Sarajevo,” Natasha agrees, with her too-know eyes. “Alian and Yana – they know everything.”

 

Romanov clenches her fist, a brief action that gives away her unease and she hates Barton for those eyes he gives her, because he knows her answer almost before she did. Nodding, he steps away and says “Alright, Tasha.”

 

She wants to scream her frustration, but the terror keeps her silent – Stark is right, it’s like a freefall into the void of outer space. It’s everything she’s ever been trained to resist, deny, ignore, avoid, refuse.

 

And Romanov doesn’t want to give him empty words from a machine, she wants to give him…{redacted} Romanov tells herself firmly. {redacted} {redacted} {redacted}

 

It’s just that today is the first indication she’s ever had that Barton wanted something in return.

 

 _No_.

 

{redacted}

 

What she wants doesn’t matter. It never has before, and that isn’t likely to change… Except that it clearly has, because there are five men who seem willing to hand Natasha the world on a silver and the moon on a string at a moment’s notice. And all Romanov wants is – {REDACTED} {REDACTED}

 

The Red Room taught her that she couldn’t be punished for her thoughts if she didn’t actually have them.

 

Quietly, Barnes says “Barton…I’ll do it.”

 

He feels their eyes upon him, but they can’t possibly know how…hollowed out and bruised he feels. Like someone has scraped his guts out with a dull tin spoon. He was expecting Stark to reject him, of course he was, but for just a moment, he’d let Barnes hold him and comfort him and that…almost made it _worse_ , somehow.

 

Barton’s eyes are just as undaunted as they were with Romanov. Fearless, and it’s a little comforting, because he isn’t fearless in the way that Rogers is fearless, the look-before-you-leap philosophy of life. Barton has looked and he has seen, all the way down the cliff, and it still doesn’t scare him. It’s actually a little reassuring.

 

When the pale fizzing gold surges above the ribbon of violet light, Clint and Bucky turn and look at each other, brows raised. Reversing their original order appears to be something that effects all of them, not just Stark and Rogers.

 

The brows raise higher and higher as the song begins. It seems that the two of them are still a dirty combination, it’s just darker and stranger now.

 

Whatever Barnes is attempting to communicate to Barton, it’s fucking _filthy_. The bass and guitar alone describe it. Seriously.

 

Sex without bothering to take off more clothes than you have to, because neither of you can wait filthy. Hot, sweaty, slow fucking in a dark room on a bare mattress filthy. Neither of you waste time with talking, because there isn’t anything you can say that your bodies aren’t already saying to each other filthy.

 

The singer doesn’t help this impression at all. Even more strangely, none of the lyrics are even terribly suggestive, but his tone is so vulgar, growling out each line like the words have to be pulled from his throat, so that Barnes finds himself shuddering, the back of his neck prickling.

 

_I’ve never met a salesman like you before_   
_Lines of the world just rippin’ us apart_   
_Scratch ran out along the way_   
_Think I got one more word left to say_

 

Barton is looking at him, he realizes, green eyes darkened, dilated with interest. Each note and chord seems designed to play all the way up his spinal cord to send him panting and shivering. If he weren’t standing still, he’d be stumbling around like a drunk, knees weak and eyes blind to the world. Barnes suspects – deep down in his gut, he feels it – that Barton would enjoy that.

 

_I thought nothing’d ever pierce my heart_   
_Worst thing to do is shutter on my pride_   
_Scratch ran out, nice and slow_   
_Think I got one more mile left to go_

 

Slow sweaty sex on a bare mattress. No talking, because their bodies do that better than their mouths ever will. Never getting their clothes all the way off.

 

Barnes want to know how far he’d take him, how much he’d want. _All of it_ , Barton’s eyes are saying. _Everything. Give me the whole of yourself_.

 

Barton knows he’ll never be the smartest man in a room – especially not a room that contains multiple versions of Bruce Banner and Tony Stark – but he’s pretty sure he understands the message being sent here. Hell, if he were deaf, dumb, and blind, he’d receive this particular notice.

 

 _I’ve never met a salesman like you before_  
 _Lines of the world just rippin’ us apart_  
 _Scratch ran out along the way_  
 _Think I got one more_ GODDAMN _word to say_

 

The word ‘goddamn’ is a growled bark of unfulfilled desire, and it makes Barton’s leg jerk hard, trying to shake off the ache of blood flowing to his cock. He’s only mostly successful. It hurts, but Barnes doesn’t look half as miserable as he was before. Barton recognizes that impulse.

 

“You need someplace to put it, don’t you?” Startled, Barnes blinks his pale puppy eyes at him, like a dog that’s been whipped and thrown out into the rain. He wonders if HYDRA liked that expression on him – they’d be the type to enjoy it. Softly, Barton says “The pain. You need a place to put it.”

 

He’s right. He needed to trade it for something less hard to handle. “I…”

 

Barton’s eyes soften. “It’s alright.” He resists the urge to reach out and touch him. They ain’t there yet. But they will be. He can _feel_ it. “I get it.”

 

Barnes’ stomach still hurts, but now it’s an easier kind of pain, one he can manage to get his arms around instead of choking himself on it. Almost as if instead of having his guts scooped out, his belly was filled with burning embers now. He watches Barton lick his lips and lets it keep him warm.

 

“ _Matka_?”

 

All twelve of them turn to see Wanda standing in the door, brow furrowed as she realizes there were more people then she was expecting to see.

 

Natasha walks out from the crowd so that Wanda can see her. “ _Ano, dcera_?”

 

That word again, it sounds like ‘Sarah’, but just like Bucky, Natasha puts an odd emphasis on it that alerted Stark to the fact that she wasn’t speaking English.

 

Uncertainly, Wanda says “We are ready…to start the grill…? Are the guests…staying?”

 

“For the foreseeable future,” Natasha says, with the hint of a grimace. “Tell Loki and Thor that our younger selves are not allowed to leave yet. Was there something else you needed?”

 

“Um… _velitel’_ and _samec_ promised Peter…”

 

“Shit, I forgot,” Bucky mutters and winces.

 

Steve says, “We’ll be up in just a minute, _a leanbh_.”

 

Rogers whips his head around and stares at him, and the use of such a specific and possessive endearment. “You call-does _she know_ that you call her…?”

 

“We don’t have secrets,” Steve says calmly, repeating Clint’s words from earlier.

 

Calmly, Bruce says, “She calls Natasha ‘mother’ and has names for each of us that translate to ‘dad’, so the usage is quite natural, I promise.”

 

Somewhere between uncertain and awed, Barton says to Natasha “You really let her call you ‘mother’?”

 

“It isn’t as though I can yell at her, especially now that Peter can’t stop calling me ‘Mom’ even when he wants to. Anyway, it seems cruel to scold them for it.”

 

Romanov stares at her with a kind of speechless horror. “I’m no one’s mother.”

 

Natasha shrugs before meeting her gaze steadily. “I’m not exactly maternal either, but that doesn’t seem to matter to them. When you have a hammer, every solution becomes a nail. When you’re an orphan, even a spider looks like a mother.”

 

That assessment isn’t fair to Natasha and it certainly isn’t fair to Wanda and Peter, but the men understand that this is a touchy subject to her and don’t attempt to correct it.

 

“Dinner time,” Bruce says firmly, all but shoving them out of the room. “The six of you can think about this on the pool deck just as well as you can here.”

\---

Parker stares around him in wonder and envy. It isn’t hard to distinguish the people from his own world. For one thing…

 

“Peter!” He jumps, looking around wildly as Cap calls his name, only to realize that he was calling for this Peter, who is instantly at his side. He twitches at Steve’s wide grin down at his other self. “Ready, kiddo?”

 

“I’ve been ready my whole life,” Peter says eagerly, and hefts the vibranium shield one-handed, giving it to Steve.

 

Teasing slightly, Steve says “Are you really, really sure?”

 

“Come on, Steve!” he whines, “Please! You said you would!”

 

“So I did,” he chuckles, reaching out to ruffle his Peter’s hair. Almost…rubbing the back of his head? “Alright, kiddo.”

 

Flipping the shield as naturally and smoothly as if it were part of him, Steve lets it rest upon his outstretched forearm and holds it steady. The others are extremely puzzled by this and then Peter does something that puzzles them even more. With a little flip, he settles himself on top of the shield and says, “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

 

“Do you promise you’ll hold on?” No longer teasing, Steve is deadly serious now. “Promise you’ll be holding on as tightly as you can, _a leanbh_.”

 

“I promise,” he says, clutching at the edges of the disk to demonstrate.

 

“Okay, then. One, two, three-” Steve throws the shield high in the air, putting some real strength into the toss and twisting his wrists sharply as he releases it so that both it and Peter flip over and over in midair. Peter laughs and screams at the same time, the sound snatched by the wind even as it rang off the surrounding Manhattan landscape.

 

He’s still laughing when he returns to earth, with Steve waiting there to catch him. “That-that was amazing,” he pants, arms trembling slightly at the sudden rush of adrenaline. “Wow!”

 

“You ready for the next part?” Steve says, watching Bucky flash him a cheeky salute from across the deck.

 

“So ready, Dad,” Peter says, then freezes, finding himself staring right into Steve’s eyes and praying nobody heard him fuck up _again_. “Um…”

 

“I’m not mad, I’m not mad,” Steve says quickly. “Peter, it’s okay. Do you want to get down?”

 

Nobody else heard him. “No,” he says, in a small voice, like a scolded child. “Can we keep going?”

 

“Of course,” he assures, returning Bucky’s salute. “Again. One, two, three…”

 

Another shriek pierces the evening air as Steve throws the shield, hurling Peter at high speed straight toward Bucky, who catches him by the shield’s straps, red-cheeked and still giggling.

 

Bucky cackles and hurls him right back to Steve. He’s laughing and shaking so hard that he slides right off the metal surface, heart racing like a frightened rabbit, to be held up in a standing position by Steve’s firm grip around his shoulders. “Ah, you’re alright, a leanbh.”

 

“I wanna go again!” Peter gasps.

 

Both of them realize that they now have a guest. Parker looks on, as earnest and eager as his own Peter. It was a little heartbreaking.

 

“Why are you calling him ‘Alannah’?” Parker asks Steve curiously, scratching his head. “Isn’t that a girl’s name? I’m pretty sure my name’s still Peter, right?”

 

Also slinging an arm around Peter so that he is sort of cradled between the two men, Bucky cheerfully says “Oh, he calls Wanda that, too. It’s Gaelic, pal. It means ‘my child’.” And, as if to really hammer the nail into that particular coffin, he leans over to press a firm kiss against Peter’s temple, teenager flushing with a bit of embarrassment and a lot of warm, heavy affection beating through his blood. “Isn’t that right, _a leanbh_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I Wish I Was" - the Avett Brothers  
> "The Marriage of Coyote Woman" - All Them Witches


	17. do you wanna dance? part i

After dinner, they have fun-filled discussion about telling the Mini-vengers the truth of their situation – and surprise, surprise, the alternate universe adults don’t want to.

 

“You don’t understand,” Bruce says patiently. “In your world, this would be impossible to explain to other people, and we get that, really. But they don’t live in a world like yours, they live in one like ours, and their timeline is already going to skew from their journey here. Keeping this knowledge from them is cruel on a level that I don’t think you can comprehend.”

 

“Separating Echoes from each other is a _war_ _crime_ ,” Steve adds earnestly. “And Anthony and Natalia already know. This isn’t just the most logical action – it’s the only ethical one.”

 

“Then why didn’t you tell the others before now?” Rogers demands.

 

“Because we didn’t want the six of you pissing on their parade before the parade even got started,” Clint replies baldly. “Especially when we weren’t actually sure if you were like us or not.”

 

“And we fully intended to tell them,” Tony said casually. “When you left. After all, we have a Bucky to save and parents to not kill.”

 

“Not killing JFK would also be a plus,” Bucky adds.

 

“Oh, absolutely.”

 

Barnes flinches and Stark goes incredibly still. “Are you serious?”

 

He shrugs. “There’s no reason why not.”

 

“Uh…no, no reason at all,” Banner says slowly, “Except that everyone but James and Steven would likely lose their memories of these events. And you’d be potentially changing the entire course of history.”

  
“But we don’t know that for certain,” Tony counters. “Also, as the child of said dead parents, I have to say: I kinda think it’s worth it.”

 

Bruce quietly says “Actually, we can be certain that whatever course their history takes, we know it won’t change that much.”

 

The six of them stare at him until Stark says “Oh. Does it really work like that? How the hell does it know?”

 

Bruce also shrugs. “We don’t know how, only that it does.”

 

“What are you saying?” Romanov says impatiently “How do you _know_?”

 

Stark explains, “Because they’re bound together. They’ve heard their music and it exists in the way that it does, because they already know their history is going to align to keep them together. That’s such a mindfuck…”

 

“We’re aware,” Bruce says with a gentle smile. “Just as I’m sure that you’re aware we plan to tell them whether you like it or not. We’re simply giving you the option to be present for it.”

 

Dryly, Stark says “Maybe don’t tell them this means endless fucking, because that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.”

 

Natasha is the one who snorts with laughter first, and recovers first. “Yeah, it’s too late for that.”

 

Barton barks out his own laughter. “Little Tony has game, I guess. Surprised little Tasha went for it.”

 

Overhead, FRIDAY calmly says “All six of the younger versions have engaged in a sexual act with the other five present. Including frottage, masturbation, hand-to-genital contact, oral-to-genital contact, oral-to-anal contact, and anal intercourse.”

 

Even the original versions of themselves splutter. “ **ALREADY**?!”

 

Serenely, FRIDAY continues “Natalia has not broken her promise to refrain from penetrative intercourse, but there were no restrictions placed upon the others. I was not required to report or interfere.”

 

“Yeah, because I didn’t think they were going to fuck each other the moment we left them alone!” Tony squawks.

 

“Apparently, you were wrong,” Steve says, amused despite his shock.

 

Curious (and because he had the soul of a true deviant), Clint asks “Who the hell got all the way to anal sex and rimming?”

 

“The first night here, Mister Barton initiated anal intercourse with Mister Banner, and Mister Barnes engaged in both mutual oral-to-genital contact as well as initiating oral-to-anal contact on Mister Stark.”

 

“Oh my god,” Barnes mutters, covering his face.

 

Clint wipes a non-existent tear from his eye. “I’m so goddamn proud.” Elbowing Bucky, he adds “See this proves that I was right – you’re filthy in every universe. Just own it, man.”

 

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, on second thought, we probably shouldn’t have let him wander around with his new nose and leave him alone with five sex-crazed young adults.” With an odd facial spasm, he says, “Wait, you said _all_ of them have? Stevie watched me suck a dick?”

 

“Mister Rogers has engaged in frottage with Miss Romanova, kissed Mister Barnes, Mister Stark, and Mister Barton, and encouraged Mister Barnes to…fondle him.”

 

Barnes made a strange noise, almost laughter, and Rogers looks at him in concern. “Buck? Is this too much?”

 

“Nope, no,” he says in a strangled voice, looking close to hysterical.

 

Bucky smiles at Barnes, all too knowingly, and his panic grows as Bucky says slyly, “It’s almost a pity ours got so big.”

 

Natasha hums, almost dreamily agreeing “He is _awfully_ cute.”

 

Face screwed up in confusion, Rogers says “Why?” and Steve says “Hey!” with a bit of a pout.

 

Barnes, they can’t help but notice, looks increasingly caught out, his hysteria finally spilling out of him as he barks, “What do you mean _why_?!”

 

Rogers blinks, startled at this seemingly bizarre outburst from his friend. “I mean…why? I was sick all of time, you spent our entire childhood worrying that I was going to die and…” He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “…and let’s face it, Buck, I wasn’t a prime example of the species. The entire neighborhood knew I was a literal runt of the litter.”

 

Steve shifts uncomfortably, with a sad expression on his face, but does not contradict this statement.

 

Bucky and Barnes have terrifyingly similar expressions of rage. “That’s my fucking friend you’re talking about!” Barnes growls dangerously, grabbing him by the shirt and baring all his teeth at Rogers as he gives him a little shake. “I think your ma taught you to keep your mouth shut when you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say!”

 

“Don’t you ever talk about my Stevie that way,” Bucky says, soft and deadly at his shoulder. “I had nothing, but I would’ve given him the world if he asked for it. He was the only thing that made working sixteen hours a day, six days a week, bearable. I don’t care if your name is Steve Rogers, call my boy a runt again and I’ll break both your goddamn arms.”

 

Shocked, both Steve and Rogers whisper “Bucky…”

 

“I couldn’t tell you,” Barnes told him, sullen. “Good little church boy, went to Mass every goddamn Sunday – and they picked on you enough, they didn’t need proof that I…that _we_ …I couldn’t tell you.”

 

“That’s new,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky stares at the floor. “There was really no good time to tell you. Then there was no point. You were mine, and it was in the past,” he says quietly. He shook his head. “But it’s not in _his_ past, and if he hasn’t told him by now, he needs to.”

 

FRIDAY helpfully tells the Baby-vengers that they need to assemble back in EUTERPE’s room. It’s sort of hilarious, seeing the six of them stare at the two other sets of faces standing in front of them, perched on the sofa and trying not to look overtly guilty (which everyone but Natalia frankly sucks at).

 

Luckily leans heavily against the girl’s knee, tail thumping as she coos and murmurs to him in Russian. Natasha feels a pang of…something, for her younger self then, a feeling she suspects is echoed in Romanov. If only they could give her the childhood she’s lost.

 

“I know you’re probably wondering why we’ve asked to talk to you,” Bruce says – he had the most soothing manner, so the originals agreed that he would begin this discussion. Though god only knew what it would evolve to. “But it seems we have no reason to remain silent.”

 

Clinton straightens between James and Robert on the sofa, expression brightening. “Oh, is this about all of us being soulmates?”

 

Most of them were not aware that silence could be loud until just that moment.

 

Natasha did not bother to hold in her grin, despite knowing that it probably made her look like a serial killer. Clint Barton’s best quality was the element of surprise. “I love you more than anything,” she tells Clinton, honest and unapologetic, reaching out to stroke his dirty blond hair. “You’re such a smart boy.”

 

He hasn’t heard that enough in his life and she knows it, but it’s true. He always managed to surprise her, and she’s always loved him for it. Clinton blushes from his neck to the tips of his ears. “U-uh…”

 

Tony silently watches them and makes a mental note. _Tell Clinton that he’s good and smart. Tell Robert he doesn’t have to be smart to be loved. Tell Anthony he doesn’t have to try so hard for attention. Tell Steven that he’s good and handsome. Tell James that he’s loved. Tell Natalia that she’s compassionate and brave_.

 

Steven and James both have the stricken looks of the utterly flabbergasted. Anthony stares at Clinton and demands “You knew? This whole goddamn time, and you knew that we…?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Clinton says with a shrugs. “I don’t usually offer to let random guys raw me, dude, even if they are really pretty. I thought it was obvious. There are six of us, and six of them, and six of the others. Plus I know my own frickin’ soul when I hear it – I thought you guys did, too.”

 

“I knew,” Robert admits softly. “But I knew you didn’t know.”

 

“We knew,” Natalia said, gesturing between herself and Anthony. “We found out almost as soon as we were brought here, but we didn’t realize you…”

 

“You were lying to us?” Steven asks, staring at her with such wounded betrayal that Anthony beside her cowers back.

 

Natalia curls her hand in his sleeve, earnestly saying “I lied about nothing! I wanted what was mine, and you are mine!” She whirls back on Bucky. “Must I continue with this rule? I am certain now that they would not harm me.”

 

Bucky looks at her with a cruel gleam in his eye, before suddenly reaching out and grabbing a handful of thick red hair. “ _Get on your knees_ ,” he commands in Russian, dragging her from the sofa. “ _Now_.”

 

Barton has to be stopped from going forward by Clint and Natasha.

 

He understands that it is somewhat morally questionable to feel like a proud father when Natalia jerks in his grip and hisses back, “ _No!_ ”

 

“ _Why not_?” he mocks. “ _You said you are ready to be a big girl, all grown up. Show me, Natalia – Get. On. Your. Knees_.”

 

“ _I don’t want to_!” she yells, finally yanking away from his grip.

 

Bucky smiles at her. “You pass, _lisitsa_. You don’t have to follow the rule anymore.”

 

“I don’t understand…” Robert says slowly, “Why are you choosing to tell us about this now?”

 

Tony snorts. “We were only keeping it a secret because our other house guests were being massive twats about it,” he says dryly. “But since they’ve already found out about our sleeping arrangements, there’s not much point.”

 

They have to explain themselves, of course. Some of it is quite lovely, but not all of it.

 

James cries when they explain about the Starks and the Winter Soldier, and Steven holds him, white and thin and scared looking. Clinton and Anthony cry when they explain about Natalia, about why she is so knowledgeable in some things, and so ignorant in others. About Alian and Yana and the way their daughter was taken away from them. Robert does not cry when Bruce tells him about Ross, and the way the Hulk was born, but he clings to Natalia and James’ hands, jaw clenched tight. Steven is overwhelmed by Steve’s explanation of his travel through history, but he bears it well.

 

“What about me?” Clinton asks, when the explanations seem to have died out and the other five young Avengers are sitting around him in stunned silence. “I-I don’t want to have like…a dark backstory or anything, but…”

 

Barton laughs, a short and cruel sound. “You’re…19?” Clint asks, peering up at the ceiling for a moment before giving his younger self a hard stare. “Somethin’ you’re forgetting to mention isn’t there, mini-me?”

 

Clinton shrugs, struggling to look defiant, but he just looks uncertain instead. “Wasn’t sure if events were the same here as they were there. I said I was in Savannah, right?”

 

“Conveniently leaving out the part where you’re supposed to be sitting in the Harbor Town SHIELD containment facility,” Clint says dryly.

 

“What does that mean?” Steven asks, face comically twisted in confusion.

 

“It means he’s supposed to be in jail,” Anthony says, staring at Clinton. “Why? Why were you sitting in a SHIELD prison?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, still trying to pull off nonchalant bravado. “I don’t have to go back – coming here has basically let me off the hook.”

 

“The fuck it has,” Clint snarls, clipping him in the back of the head. “You’ve been here nearly a week, dumbass – we’re sending all of you back to the exact moment in time you disappeared from, in the exact location.”

 

Clinton’s face falls. “Why?” he says, uncharacteristically whiny. “I thought we’re going to be together!”

 

“We can’t do that,” Tony says, visibly unhappy with this. “That would destroy your entire timeline and could erase everyone but Steven and James from existence. As hard as we’re going to try to stop James from becoming his own version of _The Hunt for Red October_ , you still have to start in your current positions and work all the way back to a converging point.”

 

“Not to mention – you are fucking _guilty_ , you horrible little snot,” Clint sneers. “And you know it.”

 

“But I wasn’t the only-”

 

“You think I don’t goddamn know that? _Me_ , of all people? Barney played you for an idiot, kid, and now you’re the fall guy. But that doesn’t make you less guilty! You steal from people, you dipshit!”

 

“Okay,” Banner says loudly, glancing at Bruce. “Am I correct in assuming that all of you have instructions for our younger selves? Maybe it’s time to split up into groups and discuss that…”

 

Clint is still glaring at Clinton when Barton kneels in front of the teenager and looks him in the eye. “There will be a man who comes to you,” he says quietly, somber. “Philip J. Coulson. You need to say yes to him.”

 

Confused, Clinton glances between the two of them. “He’s right,” Clint sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Coulson will look like everybody’s dad, and sound like a fake asshole. He’s going to save you. Say yes.”

 

Banner looks at Bruce and gives a magnanimous and somewhat ironic gesture toward Robert, interested and puzzled when Bruce pulls two folded pieces of paper from his pants pockets. Lifting first the left hand and then the right, he says, “This is the one you should keep if you don’t want to become the Hulk, and this is the one you should keep if you do. Feel free to read them both.”

 

Anthony stares at Stark and Tony. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving me hints and shit?”

 

Tony paces for several moments before crouching with his hands on Anthony’s knees. “I’m just going to give this to you straight: I can’t promise that I can save your parents.”

 

Glancing over at the solemn team of all three Steves and all three Buckys, Anthony says “But I thought…”

 

“He can stop James from being the one who kills them,” Stark explains with a tired sigh. “But HYDRA will still send an assassin.”

 

Tony nods. “Howard knew what he was doing was a high risk-high reward type of situation, but he still did it. Even if I sent you back in time before their death-”

 

Anthony’s heart sank. “He’d never listen to me,” he says hollowly. “It wouldn’t matter what I said, Howard would never take my advice seriously.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says sincerely. “James and Steven are going to do all they can to prevent his capture, but they can’t stop Howard from doing what he pleases fifty years in the future.”

 

“Whatever happens, do not let him get on the train,” Steve says curtly.

 

James and Steven are both very confused and concerned, naturally. “Huh?”

 

“It sounds strange,” Rogers admits sheepishly. “But you’ll know when it happens. Do not let him get on the train with you, Stevie.”

 

Bucky rubs his hand over his face. “If you can’t, if by some crazy twist of fate, he goes and James falls off the train, you have to go back – quickly, but _safely_ , Steve. _SAFELY_. That means not jumping off the fucking train to go after him.”

 

Behind him, Barnes makes a devastated noise and crouched between Steven’s skinny knees. Cupping his thin face, Barnes whispers “Promise me, no matter what happens: you will never jump after me. I mean it, Stevie. Promise.”

 

“I promise,” Steven says weakly, those puppy dog blue eyes making him squirm in his seat.

 

“Um…” James says, hesitantly, falling silent when Steve and Rogers both focus their attention on him.

 

“Yes?” Steve asks kindly.

 

“Does…does Steve…are you…” Steve reaches out to squeeze his hand. James looks away. “Do you have to get big?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steven asks, frowning.

 

James stares at the floor. “This is your body,” he says quietly. “I know you don’t like it, a lot of the time. But it’s yours, and that’s why…that’s why I love it.”

 

“Oh,” Steve and Rogers both say, very quietly.

 

“Bucky…” Steven whispers, shocked. “You’ve never…I don’t…”

 

“Ain’t a dame in Brooklyn as pretty as you,” James confesses. “And if you break my nose for saying that, it’s worth it. Cause, doll, it’s true.”

 

Romanov wasn’t sure what she expected Natasha to say. The woman takes a breath, gently holds Natalia’s hand, and begins speaking. It’s entirely in Russian, slow measured sentences designed to allow Natalia to absorb every word, beginning with “Here is what you will do…”

 

They sit on the balcony, talking for hours, until Natasha has gone hoarse. Natalia stops her now and then to ask questions, clarify instructions, and Romanov interjects occasionally with finer details.

 

They talk until the sun goes down, and Wanda sits on the couch inside, waiting for Matka to emerge.

 

As they return, Natalia turns to her older selves and says, “Are you certain that I must go there?”

 

Romanov is silent, almost troubled, and Natasha simply says “Yes.”

 

Matka comes to sit beside her and, apparently feeling unusually affectionate, winds her arms around Wanda’s shoulders with a slow, tired sigh.

 

“Where are you sending her?” Wanda asks.

 

“Home. To her parents,” she clarifies.

 

“I thought you said you don’t have a place in their lives,” Wanda says curiously.

 

“Natalia is a child. She needs her parents.”

 

Wanda pauses at that, thoughtful. “Matka…?”

 

“Yes, _dcera_?”

 

“I hurt lots of people, Matka. Accidentally, for the most part. But I was responsible for a lot of people dying.” Even more quietly, she says “I am not even your real child, but knowing this, you care for me anyway. But what if I was your daughter, and before I hurt those people and caused those accidents, cruel people abused and tortured me first? Worse even than Strucker did? Would you still love me, Matka?”

 

Natasha is silent for so long that Wanda is afraid she grossly overstepped herself. That she has angered Matka. Then the redhead shifts Wanda’s bangs away from her face and murmurs “Alright, _dcera_. You’ve made your point.”

\---

Stepping through the portal into the light of their very own universe, Stark stares at the five faces looking back at him.

 

“Now what?” Barnes asks quietly, fidgeting at the oppressive silence that surrounds them.

 

Stark tilt his head before carefully, gently giving him a kiss on the lips. “Now we…figure it out.”

 

August 1941

The next morning, Steve is opening his eyes to the same water stain he’s looked at for all of the nearly three years he’s lived with Bucky since his mother passed. Rolling over to escape the first rays of sunshine peeking through their homemade curtains, Steve tries not to feel the empty space in the bed all around him.

 

Patience was not a virtue that came naturally to him in any way, but as with many parts of his life, there was no other choice here.

 

Sitting up in bed, Steve flips off the covers and murmurs “Hang on guys, I’m on my way.”


	18. do you wanna dance? part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware the nonlinear narrative - i wrote this the way it made sense to me and i'm VERY aware that i might not make sense to other people

June 2018

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen – please step into the circle,” Steve instructs, waving all of their visitors toward the blue outline chalked onto the roof landing. “All passengers are to keep their hands, arms, legs, and _definitely_ their heads in the circle at all times.”

 

As the Guardians go through in the first round, Tony begins handing each of their six counterparts an envelope, nothing but their names written on each of them in his messy handwriting. “You’ll want to wait to open those – just a tiny bit of helpful advice. A hint, if you like.”

 

There was a much thicker stack of envelopes waiting for their young time-travelers, their names written in Bruce’s smaller and much neater script. Natalia’s name was missing from the stack.

 

And another name was missing from theirs. Barton frowns, looking around at the others. “I don’t get one?”

 

At that, Clint walks over and pulls a box seemingly from thin air – dark blue, flat, and devoid of any branding in way that meant it had to be very, very expensive. “You only get one hint,” he told his other self, handing him the box. “But it’s a _really_ good hint.”

 

Turning his body away, Barton slips the cover open a crack, less than an inch, and peers inside. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “Is this _mine_?”

 

Clint grins at him, all teeth. “It’s the wrong color, ain’t it?” Leaning in, he murmurs low enough for only Barton to hear, “But you know someone it’d look real pretty on, don’t you?”

 

“You’re shitting me,” Barton swears, eyes wide, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Serious as a heart attack.”

 

“All parties ready?” Loki asks, looking them over with a skeptic eye. The six of them were the last left from their world.

 

Rogers looks troubled. Stark blew out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess we are. Hit it!”

 

In one minute, they were standing on the roof at twilight. In the next, they were blinking in the bright sunlight of their own world. Stark stares at the five faces looking back at him.

 

“Now what?” Barnes asks quietly, fidgeting at the oppressive silence that surrounds them.

 

Stark tilts his head before carefully, gently giving him a kiss on the lips. Barnes can hear his heart racing a million miles a minute. “Now we…figure it out.”

 

Beside them, Romanov scoffs, staring at the piece of paper in her hand. “Of all the…” she trails off into Russian cursing and the four men scramble to open theirs. Barton simply watches it with a strangely content expression.

 

“They’re all the same,” she says, shamelessly reading over their shoulders.

 

“What do they say?” Barton asks patiently.

 

She gives a small, nearly hysterical little laugh and shows him the page, all five of them in Tony’s messy, hurried penmanship.

 

_Tell Bruce he doesn’t have to be smart to be loved._

_Tell Bucky he is loved and worthy._

_Tell Clint he is smart, and a good person._

_Tell Natasha she is compassionate and kind._

_Tell Steve he is handsome and brave._

_Tell Tony he won’t have to try so hard for your attention._

 

All of their deepest insecurities, written down so that the others were supposed to assuage them.

 

Barton hums. “That sounds about right.”

 

Stark eyes him suspiciously. “What did he give you?”

 

He smiles back at him serenely, hiding the box behind his back. He wasn’t ready to open it, none of them were. But someday… “Your gift.”

 

Staring at the blue chalk markings, Tony says “Alright, now that you gave my present away, can you please tell me what it was?”

 

Clint hooks their arms together. “A collar with a bell.”

 

“Oh, that’s okay then, I already have one,” Tony says, dismissive. “Though I’d love to see the look on his face…”

 

Clint is doing something with his expression that looks very guilty.

 

“Oh no. What did you do?”

 

“It may have been a custom-made piece, like the first one I gave you…” He chews his lower lip. “…except this time I paid about eight thousand dollars for it…”

 

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

 

His voice becomes barely audible “…it-it may… _may have been_ …made of solid gold…and covered in rubies, garnets, and pearls…”

 

“Congratulations,” Bruce says dryly. “You’ve given Tony Stark a heart attack. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

 

Natasha clicks her tongue, lightly kissing Tony’s cheek and rubbing his back. “It isn’t as much fun with this one.”

 

Steve leads in their time-travelers, handing everyone but young Natalia an envelope, stuffed with notes and instructions. “I’m sorry,” he tells her kindly. “I haven’t got one for you.”

 

“It is okay,” she tells him with a small smile. “It is better not to have evidence.”

 

That’s…unsettling, but probably true. They are all more subdued now, more aware of how much can and will go wrong if they do not try to fix it.

 

They also…smell like sex?

 

James meets Steve’s raised eyebrow and blushes. Steven, undoubtably with the fairest and most delicate skin in the group, has large purple and blue hickeys all over his neck and probably more beneath his shirt. Clinton has something that looks very much like a large bite mark on his forearm. Bruce’s hair looks like even more of a fucking disaster than usual and Anthony has what looks like a wicked beard rash all over his neck and face.

 

Natalia is the only one innocent of any obvious evidence – _thank god_. Steve doesn’t want to know what the Red Room would do to an operative who displayed explicable signs of ‘being tampered with’ without their explicit approval.

 

Bruce goes to speak with Loki, clarifying some last minute details, prompting the mini-Avengers to wait outside of the circle. “Alright, rascals,” Bucky says fondly. “Give us a hug.”

 

With no hesitation, Steven darts straight for him, tiny arms wrapped tight around him. They make a ridiculous picture, but Bucky melts like butter. Kissing the top of Steven’s head, he whispers “It’s…it’s so dangerous, what you’re all doing. Take care of yourself out there, sweetheart.”

 

Steven nods fiercely, a single tear escaping with a gasp, wiped away on Bucky’s shirt. “I will, Buck. I promise. I’ll follow all the rules.”

 

Natalia is right behind him and she hugs him in such a stiff, uncertain way that he knows she means it. “I…I am going to lose you,” she realizes, fingers tightening against his back. “If this works, I will lose everything of you, everything as you existed before.”

 

“Oh, baby. What you knew wasn’t me, it was barely the shadow of a _person_ ,” he murmurs into her hair. “But I want you know something – I’m proud of you, _devotchka_. I always was and always will be. No matter what happened. No matter what _happens_.”

 

“You aren’t anything like I thought you’d be,” Anthony admitted, with a small flirtatious smile. He couldn’t help himself.

 

Steve grins. “Is it the swearing? It’s probably the swearing.” More somberly, he says “I know that it feels like this is all riding on me and Buck, but it isn’t.”

 

Frowning, Anthony looks uncertain. “But…they’re the first. Everything starts with them. Without them to begin everything…”

 

“That’s true. And I’m confident that they’re going to fulfill their roles. But Tony,” he says, gently cupping the boy’s face. “Everything _ends_ with _you_.”

 

“But I can’t-I’m not-”

 

“You are,” Steve says softly, and kisses his brow. “Follow your rules. Memorize your instructions. Above all, listen to your heart, Tony, and do what it tells you. It’s never steered me wrong before. You can do this, but you’ll have to have faith in yourself and faith in them.”

 

With a disgruntled sound, Natasha begins straightening Robert’s hair, gently untangling the wild mass with her fingers, which he endures with owl-eyed silence. “I know that you’re really more of a lone wolf,” she says quietly, winding her fingers around curls and letting them settle back into back. “And I appreciate that you may prefer to start alone, I understand that. But whenever it feels like too much, whenever you feel like you need someone, you’ll be able find Clint and Tony at any time. I promise, you won’t have to look hard.”

 

“They are kind of impossible to ignore,” he agrees softly, and Natasha can already hear the fondness threading its way through his voice. They are already falling in love with each other.

 

Impulsively Natasha hugs him. “Do you already have a plan?”

 

“I do,” he replies, and they leave it at that.

 

Clinton hangs on the edges, looking ill at ease. Tony pulls him into a hug, “Come here, love.” His arms return the embrace, slow and uncertain. “Are you afraid?”

 

“What if I lose them?” he asks, almost inaudible.

 

“You won’t,” he answers calmly. “They’re all incredibly difficult to kill and they’re almost psychotically stubborn. They want to be by your side, and that’s exactly where they’ll end up. Just give them time.”

 

James blinks at the two sets of six, asks Clint “Do you really think we can do this? Erase the past and write over it with something we want instead?”

 

Clint looks up at the clear blue sky. “I don’t know. I do know that the five of you are the most amazing people I’ve ever known. If anyone can make the world – time itself – bend to their will, it’s you guys. It won’t be perfect, it won’t be exactly what you want. But I believe it will happen.”

 

Finished with his discussion, Bruce returns. “Natasha – I’m sorry, dear – _Natalia_ will go first.” At the unhappy looks he gets, he says “Loki tells me that if we’d like for your memories of this trip to remain as intact as possible, we will need to go from the most recent date of memory to most distant rather than the other way around.”

 

Steve guides her, small and pale, into the circle to stand by herself.

 

Loki announces “St. Petersburg, Russia. March of 2002. Correct?”

 

Natalia nods.

 

“In three, two, one…”

 

Anthony makes a soft hurt noise, Natalia’s body vanishing right before their eyes. James squeezes his arm. “You’re next, darlin’.”

 

Shakily, Anthony goes to stand in Natalia’s place. “Manhattan, New York. January of 1993.”

 

Loki waits for his nod. “In three, two, one…”

 

The remaining four boys are totally still, no one going to take their place next. Impatient, Loki says “I have Harvard University, December of 1992.”

 

Swallowing, Robert reluctantly takes position.

 

“In three, two, one…”

 

And vanishes as though he’d never been there.

 

Clinton went right away, unwilling to make this goodbye any more drawn out than it had to be. “February 1992,” he barks at Loki. “Savannah, Georgia.”

 

The god of mischief gave a curt nod. “In three, two, one…”

 

James, holding onto Steven’s hand this whole time, is finally forced to let go. “Azzano, Italy. October of 1942.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly.

 

“In three, two, one…”

 

“Natasha,” Steven asks hoarsely, moving slowly toward the circle. “W-what does ‘le-vo-knock’ mean?”

 

“ _L’venok_ ,” she corrects softly, hand petting his hair as he passes by her. “It means ‘little lion’, Steven.”

 

He smiles sadly. He thought that having this knowledge would be one of the hardest things he’s ever had to deal with. He’s beginning to realize that being without them for so long will be much, much harder.

 

“Brooklyn, August of 1941?” he asks Loki.

 

“In three, two, one…”

 

Manhattan, January 1993

Tony wasn’t used to having a panic attack first thing in the morning. Somehow, he thought bleakly, he had the feeling it was something he would become quite accustomed to in the coming years.

 

“Sir?” JARVIS inquired politely, after Tony had finished pushing his head between his knees where he sat at the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling ill today?”

 

“Buddy,” he gasps. “You have got _NO IDEA_.”

 

His parents are still dead. Tony had absolutely no doubts on that. Maria and Howard Stark are dead and have been dead for over a month. It feels like at least a decade, and he’s…angry. He’s angry as fuck with his dead father, because the dumbass was too proud to stop trying to figure out that stupid goddamn formula, and Tony didn’t care so much about Howard, but it got his mother killed, too.

 

The poster on his bedroom wall catches his eye, and Tony stares at it blankly for several long agonizing moments. Captain America stands before him, without the patriotic suit and the round star-spangled shield Howard created. Instead he wears a sharp navy wool coat and with a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder – because rather than Steve Rogers’ fake toothpaste commercial grin, a young Bucky Barnes gives him a flat, grim stare.

 

“Oh god,” Tony whispers, stomach clenched tight with anxiety and fear. “What have we done?”

 

He…doesn’t remember Steven Grant Rogers. Tony hurries to the ensuite bathroom, sitting back against the porcelain tub until his sudden urge to dry-heave passes. He remembers Steven, he remembers kissing him, hands frantically pushing into each other’s underwear. But he does not remember hearing of or about Steve Rogers. His father never waxed poetic about how brave, smart, and strong he was. There are no stories of helping Captain America, Bucky Barnes or otherwise.

 

But Steve – big Steve, the one he remembered the first time around – Steve told him he had to have faith in them, have faith that they were doing what they were supposed to be doing.

 

In the meantime, he realizes, shaking with terror and chewing his fingernails on the bathroom floor, before he could think about finding any of them, Tony would be responsible for taking care of Obadiah Stane.

 

Harvard, December 1992 

Bruce has no trouble realizing exactly where he is when he opens his eyes and stares at the door to his dorm. It doesn’t surprise him at all. What does surprise him is his first thought – _what the hell am I doing here_?

 

Not in the sense of being confused about his current location. He remembers everything about his trip into that other future. Bruce is wondering why the hell he is here, at Harvard University, taking classes that only halfway interest him, trying to impress the memory of a father who hated him, with classmates who are either indifferent or envious of his class standing.

 

 _What the hell am I doing here_?

 

And he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. Looking at the messy calendar tacked to his wall and staring thoughtfully for a moment, Bruce springs from the bed and grabs his car keys from his desk, leaving the student housing building without a second glance.  

 

The school administrator is understandably confused, staring at his disheveled bedhead and only barely acceptable state of dress with a judgmental eye. “Hi,” Bruce says, smiling affably. “I’d like to quit, please.”

 

She tries to talk him out of it, of course – tries to remind him that his finals for the semester are just days away and he is currently at the top of most, if not all, of his classes. Bruce is not deterred by any of her very logical arguments.

 

He hates to say that he just woke up one morning and realized that he hated what he was doing but…that’s sort of exactly what happened? In a roundabout way?

 

Bruce never really stopped to think about it before Natasha spoke to him, but he’s been just…drifting from place to place, school to school, without any real purpose. All of his older self’s notes helped him to put it into perspective. Of course, he found his studies interesting, but…he hadn’t ever really had a goal there. As far as he could tell, even his goals as he got older had mostly been determined by other people, not his own desires. The Hulk was a possible part of him, but it wasn’t a result of what he had wanted. The Hulk was a result of what other people wanted.

 

But he couldn’t pursue what he wanted, because he hadn’t let himself want anything. Until now.

 

He never has second thoughts, even when he’s packing up his room. Not when his classmates are watching him lift boxes into his car. Not when he’s in New Jersey, flipping through all of Bruce Senior’s notes. Not when he’s crossing the bridge into Manhattan.

 

It isn’t until he’s knocking at the door that it occurs to Bruce that something – many things – could go very wrong with this plan.

 

But instead, Tony flings the door open and falls into his arms. “Oh thank fucking god,” he whispers against Bruce’s neck. He’s-he’s _crying_. “Please don’t judge me for this, I just-”

 

“Never,” he breathes.

 

Brooklyn, August 1941

Steve is opening his eyes to the same water stain he’s looked at for all of the nearly three years he’s lived with Bucky since his mother passed. Rolling over to escape the first rays of sunshine peeking through their homemade curtains, Steve tries not to feel the empty space in the bed all around him. He’s gotten used to sleeping in a massive bed with five other people.

 

Patience was not a virtue that came naturally to him in any way, but as with many parts of his life, there was no other choice here.

 

Sitting up in bed, Steve flips off the covers and murmurs “Hang on guys, I’m on my way.”

 

His skin itches and crawls. He feels the urge to write to Bucky, he wants to see his writing, wants to be told that he is loved and wanted… But Steve already knows that’d be no good – Bucky’s not…he’s not awake yet. Not like he is.

 

He just needs to wait, just a little longer.

 

Until then…he reads the Avengers’ notes from the envelope with his name on it over and over, until he has some parts – especially the first sections – memorized. Bruce and Bucky were actually the strongest voices after James asked if he had to become big. “ _This is your body_ ,” Bucky had said quietly. “ _Nobody is going to tell you what you should do with it – I will_ beat the shit _out of anyone who tries_.”

 

“ _There are ways_ …” Bruce had agreed. “ _That we can fix the asthma, repair your health issues, without drastically changing your appearance when you receive the serum but it must be your decision, Steven. And yours alone. They may have their opinions, and we may have ours. But you’re the one who lives in this body, Steven. You decide what you’ll do with it.”_

 

And he’d had to ask his older self. “ _Is it better_?”

 

Steve shook his head and smiled. “ _Yes and no. People are going to look at you differently, talk to you differently. It’s a lot of attention to deal with, and you probably aren’t going to like a majority of it. Getting used to being a head taller won’t be an easy thing, either. I know I’m making it look simple, but it will be incredibly unnerving, for a very long time. It hasn’t happened in a while, but there were plenty of days I was deeply unsettled by my size relative to my surroundings_.” With a glance at Natasha, he added “ _And there’s something to be said for being underestimated, too. But people will pay attention to you at this size, even when you don’t want them to. You will intimidate them, again sometimes even when you don’t want to. It will never be hard to command attention and a lot of things are going to be easier for you this way._ ”

 

They’d stared at each other then. Steven’s mind had already been made up and they both knew it. Steve’s smile widened. “ _But we aren’t easy men, are we, Steve_?”

 

No, he is not.

 

Slowly, he begins selling all of his and Bucky’s possessions in the apartment. They won’t need it, where they’re going.

 

Italy, October 1942

Bucky is very thankful that he doesn’t have to be rescued by his Steve-in-shitty-armor in order to escape torture. He also makes damn sure to shove a piece of glass through Arnim Zola’s throat. Suck on that, you little weasel. Admittedly, it’s a bit difficult to explain to the other men in his cell why Bucky is suddenly the picture of physical health rather than a half-starved wreck dying of pneumonia the way he was when he last saw them, but considering he let everyone out of their cages, they aren’t going to ask too many questions.

 

He wonders where Steve is, how far he’s gotten. He wonders if he’s hurt. There’s no more Captain America propaganda floating around, even in places he would’ve expected. There’s a tight knot of anxiety sitting in his ribcage, making his chest ache. His needs to have that fucking serum – in no way does he think Stevie needs to lift motorcycles and pull helicopters, but without it, he is _going_ to get sick and Bucky is in fucking Italy getting shot at by pricks with alien guns.

 

It’s a three day hike back to base – and nobody even questions how Bucky knows where he’s going, but that doesn’t occur to him until much, much later. He half-expects Steve to be waiting for him there when they arrive.

 

They are pulled back from Italy, the army leery of the 107th and their strange stories of a man who managed to come back from the brink of death and guns that could make people turn to ashes. The 107th marches to France and in Nice on a week of rest, Bucky finds his love, sitting in a café and smoking a cigarette like he hasn’t had asthma a fucking day in his life, clever eyes glittering so blue it almost hurts. He’s beautiful, all five-foot-four of him, long slender fingers putting the cigarette to the mouth he’s dreamed of every night since he got to this hellhole. “Sorry I was a bit late,” he tells Bucky with a grin. “Had to find my own way here.”

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Bucky hisses, sitting across from him. "I've spent six months since I woke up worried sick about you!"

 

Steve bats his long eyelashes at the waiter and orders Bucky’s coffee in French, his voice sending chills up his spine. “Army didn’t want me when I wasn’t pretty enough to put on posters,” he says with a wry little smile. The irony isn’t lost to him – Steve’s face never changed, in the other world. Just his height. But apparently, that makes a difference. “Had to get here myself and track down your company. Took me a bit longer than I wanted it to.”

 

“So you…you got it?” he whispers, eyes devouring Steve’s form. “They-they gave you the…?”

 

Steve picks up the butter knife and calmly shoves half of the dull blade into the worn weather-beaten wood of the table, with roughly the same amount of effort most people would use to put a pin in a corkboard. “Mmhm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a couple more chapters to go! are you guys excited?!

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely SuccubusKayko created a playlist for this story, if you'd like to listen along!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Z1W7mS5RTXsDbPekx1rSf?si=Z6TVqGn7S2moAYu_U9N5dg


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